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WEBSTER,  N.Y.  143*0 

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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CiHM/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


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Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


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n 


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i 

7 

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1 

2 

3 

L'exemplaire  f  ilm6  f  ut  reproduit  grdce  A  la 
g6n6rosit6  de: 

.    Bibliothdque  nationale  du  Canada 


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conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 

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papier  est  imprimis  sont  filmis  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
derniftre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  filmte  en  commenpant  par  la 
premiere  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  —►  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbols  V  signifie  "FIN". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
filmis  A  des  taux  de  r6duction  diff6rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  ciichd.  il  est  filmd  A  partir 
de  Tangle  sup6rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nicessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
iiiustrent  la  m6thode. 


1 

2 

3 

4 

6 

6 

E 


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.4ii!U£.<.< 


/ 


MEMOIR  AND  WRITINGS 


OF 


MRS,  HANNAH  MAYNAED  PICKARD; 


LATK  WIFE  OF 


REV.  HUMPHREY  PICKARD,  A.  M., 

PRINCIPAL  OF  THE  WESLEYAN  ACADEMY  AT  MOUNT  ALLISON, 
SACKVILLE,  N.  B. 


BY    EDWARD   OTHEMAN,  A.  M. 


"  Farewell !  thy  life  hath  left  surviving  love 

A  wealth  of  records,  anil  aweet '  feelings  given,' 
From  sorrow's  lieart  the  faintness  to  remove. 
By  whispers  breathing  '  less  of  earth  than  heaven. ' 

Thus  rests  thy  spirit  still  on  those  with  whom 

Thy  step  the  path  of  joyous  duty  trod, 
Bidding  them  make  an  altar  of  thy  tomb, 

Where  chastened  thought  may  offer  praise  to  God  !  " 


BOSTON: 

DAVID    H.    ELA,    PRINTER. 

SOLD    BY    E.THOMPSON,    6    NORFOLK    PLACE,    BOSTON;     AND    BY    ALL 
VTESLEYAN  MINISTERS  IN  NOVA  SCOTIA  AND   NEW  BRUNSWICK. 


1845. 


/•  / 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1845, 

By  E.  OTHEMAN, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  tht"  District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


/' 


/ 


CONTENTS. 


Introduction 


Page 


CHAPTER  L 

Her  parentage  and  birth.  Removal  to  Concord,  Mass.  Early 
traits.  Removal  to  Wilbraham,  Mass.  Character  as  a 
student.  Revival  of  religion.  Conversion.  Baptism.  Ex- 
tract of  a  letter  from  the  Rev.  Charles  Adams 


13 


CHAPTER  n. 

Removal  to  Boston.  Love  of  the  city.  Socral  and  Sensitive 
nature.  Improvement  in  character.  Connection  with  the 
Sabbath  school.  Her  writings.  Death  of  her  sister,  Susan. 
Becomes  preceptress  at  Wilbraham.  Letter  to  her  parents. 
Local  associations.  First  passage  in  her  journal.  Winter 
at  home.    Letter  to  her  parents    ...... 


23 


CHAPTER  m. 

Sketch  of  her  character.  Use  of  religious  duties.  Religion, 
the  perfection  of  character.  Grateful  memorial.  Acquaint- 
ance with  Mr.  Pickard.  Letter  to  Mr.  Pickard.  Journal. 
Reflections.     Letter  to  Mr.  Pickard 38 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Principal  object  of  the  memoir.  New  term,  reflections. 
Trust  in  God.  Benevolent  association.  Letter  to  Mr. 
Pickard.  Her  interest  in  personal  holiness.  Robert  New- 
ton.     Close  of  the  term.     Pair  for  Oregon.      Belief  in 

special  Providence 

1* 


Ot) 


.<^ 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Advancement  in  holiness.  Christian  Perfection,  reasonable 
and  scriptural.  New  resolutions.  Sense  of  responsibility. 
Increase  of  light.  Evidence  of  acceptance.  Rejoicing  in 
God.  Earnest  desires.  Longing  for  God.  Her  relation 
of  the  experience  of  perfect  love.     Continued  cc  nsecration 


67 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Effects  of  her  recent  experience.  Holiness,  the  glory  of 
the  Church.  Religious  influence.  Interesting  illustration. 
Grace  produces  humility.  Severe  temptations.  Sensitive 
conscience.  Contemplation  of  Heaven.  Shrinking  at  the 
Cross.     Close  of  the  term     .......     87 

CHAPTER  Vn. 

Last  Winter  at  home.  Thanksgiving.  Desire  to  remain  at 
home.  Self  accusation.  Interview  with  Professor  Upliam. 
Nearness  to  Christ,  beautiful  illustration.  Letter  to  Mrs. 
Stebbins.  Death  of  her  Mother.  Detail  of  circumstances 
to  Mr.  Pickard 101 


CHAPTER  Vm. 

Returns  to  Wilbraham.  Effect  upon  her  of  her  Mother's 
death.  Her  reflections  on  that  event.  Extracts  of  letters. 
Close  of  her  connection  with  the  Academy.  Estimation  in 
which  her  services  were  held.  Her  employment  and  ap- 
pearance at  home.  Her  sentiments  in  view  of  her  contem- 
plated marriage.     Her  marriage,  and  voyage  to  St.  John 


118 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Description  of  the  city  of  St.  John,  and  vicinity.  Her  voyage 
and  reception.  Private  reflections.  Grateful  sentiments 
on  "Thanksgiving-day."  Sympathy  for  the  poor.  Attach- 
ment to  old  associations.  Sketch  of  St.  John.  Tea  Meet- 
ing, first  in  New  England.  Cause  of  her  cordial  welcome. 
Impressions  relative  to  religious  society.  Her  devotion  to 
God  and  zeal  to  do  good 


136 


v>Q^-~V^  y. ■■=--'- 


CONTENTS. 


vn 


CHAPTER  X. 

Description  of  Fredericton.  Mrs.  Pickard's  visit  there.  Ac- 
cident in  returning.  Danger  from  fire.  The  Indian  basket 
maker.  Anniversary  of  lier  mother's  death.  Wesleyan 
customs.  Visit  to  Boston  and  Chelsea.  Conjugal  affection. 
Fidelity  to  duty.  Nestorian  missionary  and  bishop.  Vari- 
ous extracts.  Visit  of  Mr.  Pickard.  Reflections  on  his 
return.  Birth  of  a  son.  Anniversary  of  her  marriage. 
Return  to  St.  John 


162 


CHAPTER  XL 

History  of  the  Wesleyan  Academy,  Sackville,  N.  B.  De*- 
scription  of  Sackville.  Mrs.  Pickard's  journey  to  Sackville. 
Opening  of  the  school.  Baptism  of  her  child.  The  nature 
of  her  connection  with  the  Institution.  Anxiety  on  account 
of  her  father's  illness.  Note  to  Miss  C.  Patten.  Attach- 
ment to  friends  both  in  her  native  and  adopted  land.  Short 
visit  to  Boston.  Commencement  of  the  Academy.  Gene- 
ral esteem.     Her  aged  class-leader.     Letters 


192 


CHAPTER  Xn. 

,  "^ains  the  enjoyment  of  perfect  love.  Last  letter.  Birth 
of  another  boy.  Death  of  the  infant.  Her  anticipated 
recovery  and  visit.  Her  sudden  death.  Letters  of  Mr. 
Pickard,  detailing  the  circumstances.  Reflections  on  her 
death.     Testimonials  of  afl'ectionatc  respect  .         .         .  226 


SELECT  WRITINGS. 

SKETCHES. 

The  Little  Remembrancer 253 

Are  they  not  our  brethren .' 2o^> 

Supposed  Dialogue  between  a  little  Heathen  girl  and 
the  daughter  of  a  Missionary      .....  2.">8 

Farewell  of  the  closing  year  ......  261 

Beauty  of  Contentment  ......  26'J 

The  Spider 266 


liik.^i-Ti^H'J^i^u^^  i:.  Hi 


■■^■ 


m 


CONTENTS. 


The  Savior's  Visit  to  the  Sisters  of  Bethany  .  269 

The  Coronation 872 

Thistle-Down  . .274 

The  Messenger  of  Peace 276 

Home 278 

A  Sketch  .         . 280 

Notes  of  Memory 284 

Watch  Night  . 288 

The  Strength  of  the  Promises 290 

**  Looking  unto  Jesus  " 293 

"  To-day  if  ye  will  hear  His  voice,  harden  not  your 
hearts" 295 

FRAGMENTS. 

Evening 301 

"  Things  seen  are  temporal  " 302 

Man  alone  ungrateful .  304 

The  pleasure-taker  warned 305 

The  storm-bird's  flight 306 

The  Bible        .        .        ....  .        .  307 

Prayer 308 

Redeem  the  time 309 

The  Future 310 

Our  Reward 311 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  claims  of  the  subject  of  the  following  Memoir  to  the 
regards  of  the  reader,  rest  not  only  on  the  exhibition  of 
cherished  and  auspiciously  developed  affections  and  friend- 
ships, but  also  on  their  combination  with  strong  points  of  in- 
tellectual, moral  and  Christian  character. 

To  dwell  upon  social  qualifies,  even  of  the  purest  and 
warmest  nature,  may,  to  some,  savor  of  mere  sentimentality. 
But  I  must  confess  that  to  me  no  character  is  lovely  which 
does  not  exhibit  the  kind  and  friendly  affections  in  native  and 
growing  strength.  Amid  the  successes  or  disasters  of  peril- 
ous adventure  and  noble  daring,  the  honorable  pursuits  of 
business  and  fame,  the  remarkable  developments  of  genius 
and  art,  and  the  fascinations  of  beauty,  the  most  essential 
element  of  a  truly  valuable  character,  is  its  twining  social 
attachments  and  moral  worth. 

Many,  we  have  reason  to  fear,  have  been  raised  by  the 
breath  of  popular  favor  to  be  the  objects  of  really  undeserved 
admiration.     Their  social   life  has   been  execrable ;  their 


.£9i.^i:-li:-i'^iAi.'^ujc^  W 


INTRODUCTION. 


spoiled  temper  and  vicious  habits  have  given  only  pain  and 
anxiety  to  relatives  and  intimate  acquaintances ;  and  it  has 
been  a  source  of  wonder  at  the  divine  economy,  how  they 
sliould  have  become  exalted  and  enshrined  in  the  devoted 
attachment  of  the  world. 

The  subject  of  these  pages  had  a  native  character  com- 
])osed  of  the  finest  materials,  which  were  but  improved  in 
ilelicacy  by  the  touch  of  mental  culture,  and  the  influence  of 
divine  grace.  And  with  all  the  genius  which,  in  its  opening 
brilliancy,  gave  delightful  promise  of  future  usefulness  and 
fame,  the  sweetness  of  her  disposition,  and  the  purity  and 
strength  of  her  social  virtues,  constituted  the  peculiar' charm  ft 
of  her  society.  Her  love  was  cheering  while  yet  she -min- 
gled personally  in  the  circles  of  earth  ;  and  now  that  she  is 
gone,  we  can  but  grieve  that  her  bright  presence  no  longer 
blesses  these  mortal  abodes.  But  "  what  earth  has  lost, 
heaven  has  gained  ;"  and  if  only  the  pure  and  good,  such 
as  she,  ii\habit  that  better  land,  well  may  we  desire  to  depart 
to  join  their  hallowed  company. 

We  shall  witness  in  the  recorded  incidents  of  her  course, 
and  the  delineation  of  her  character,  marked  intellectual 
traits,  a  highly  refined  and  cultivated  taste,  a  decided  moral 
purpose,  an  intelligent  and  Christian  acquiescence  in  the 
iun-angements  of  Providence,  and  signal  success  in  the  va- 
rious relations  and  appointments  of  her  life.  I  must  not  an- 
ticipate the  details  of  this  volume,  but  I  may  be  permitted 
to  assure  the  reader  that,  though  the  subject  of  this  work 
had  not  won  any  distinguished  honors  in  the  public  estima- 


# 


INTRODUCTION. 


XI 


tion,  hte  will  find,  in  the  perusal  of  these  pages,  enough  to 
awaken  his  gratitude  that  so  worthy  an  example  of  human 
excellence  was  vouchsafed  to  earth ;  and  enough  to  teach 
him  that,  nevertheless,  a  due  appreciation  and  employment 
of  the  advantages  of  his  situation,  will  secure  to  him  all 
that  is  valuable  in  character,  and  useful  in  conduct,  in  the 
relations  to  which  divine  Providence  may  call  him. 

Much  in  her  correspondence  that  is  characteristic  and 
interesting  to  her  personal  friends,  is  unsuitable  for  the 
public  eye.  And  I  may  add,  that  as  none  of  it  was  design- 
ed for  more  than  private  reading,  it  may  not  possess  all 
that  variety  of  sentiment  and  richness  of  language  which  a 
mere  literary  taste  may  admire.  Yet,  m  what  will  be  pre- 
sented, the  reader  will  find,  I  think,  traces  of  a  well-disci- 
plined mind,  which  has  not  been  inattentive  to  the  graces  of 
style,  even  in  her  free  and  familiar  intercourse  with  friends. 

It  seems  that  she  only  now  and  then  kept  a  private 
record  of  her  mental  exercises  and  personal  experience. 
As  there  was  no  rigid  formality  in  this  practice,  we  find 
these  occasional  musings  to  be  the  outpouring  of  a  burthened 
heart  or  of  exuberant  spirits.  We  love  to  get  such  glimpses 
of  the  inner  life ;  and  when,  as  in  this  case,  they  furnish  so 
delightful  tesiimonials  of  real  excellence,  we  wish  that  they 
had  been  multiplied  a  h"  dred  fold. 

Having  been  requested  by  her  excellent  but  deeply 
aflilicted  husband  to  collect  and  arrange  her  papers  for  pub- 
lication, together  with  some  notices  of  her  life,  I  shrank 
from  the  task,  as  becoming  some  worthier  hand ;  but  still  I 


V- 


xu 


INTRODUCTION. 


I 


felt  that  friendship  to  the  dead  and  to  the  living,  would  not 
permit  a  refusal  of  this  request :  and  I  have  done  what  I 
could.  The  reader,  1  trust,  will  overlook  the  defects  of  my 
performance,  if,  at  least,  he  can  gain  some  tolerably  distinct 
idea  of  the  character  of  one  whom  it  was  good  to  know, 
and  whose  "  memory  is  f:'agranty 

E.  O. 
Milton,  Mass.,  July,  1845. 


NOTE. 

An  erroneous  statement  k  made  near  t'le  foot  of  the  137th  page,  of  sufficient  im- 
portance to  require  correction  ;  and  I  avail  myself  of  this  opportunity  to  give-  a 
word  of  explanation.  It  is  there  stated,  that  the  Falls  of  St.  John  prevent  the  river 
navigation  from  reaching  the  wharves  of  the  city.  They  do  at  low  water  ;  and  one 
wl'.o  saw  them  at  such  a  time,  as  I  did,  without  knowing  or  remembering  the  great 
). eight  which  the  tides  reach,  would  not  imagine  that  any  craft,  but  a  skimming 
boat  perhaps,  could  ever  pass  them,  even  at  high  water.  The  fact  is,  however; 
that  the  tide  rises  usually  thirty  feet,  and  at  high  water  vessels  of  any  size  may 
ascend  and  descend  with  ease  and  safety.  This  circumstance  is,  of  course,  signally 
advantageous  to  the  country  above,  and  to  the  city  below.  £.  0. 


vould  not 
le  what  1 
cts  of  my 
ily  distinct 
i  to  know, 

E.  O. 


I 


M  E  M'O  IR. 


CHAPTER  I. 


of  sufficient  im- 
|unity  to  give  a 
ire  vent  the  river 
water ;  and  one 
lberi^lg  the  great 
)ut  a  skimming 
fact  is,  however, 
if  a»iy  size  may 
course,  signally 
E.  O. 


Her  parentage  and  birth.  Removal  to  Concord,  Mass.  Early 
traits.  Removal  to  Wilbraham,  Mass.  Character  as  a  student- 
Revival  of  religion.  Conversion.  Baptism.  Extract  of  a  letter 
from  the  Rev.  Charles  Adams. 

Mrs.  Hannah  Maynard  Pickard  was  the  youngest 
daughter  of  Ebenezer  and  Hannah  Thompson.  She 
was  born  the  25th  day  of  November,  in  the  year  1812, 
in  a  romantic  mountain  region  of  the  town  of  Chester, 
Vermont.  When  she  was  about  three  years  old,  her 
family  removed  to  the  town  of  Concord,  Massachusetts. 
Here  she  resided  ten  years. 

During  these  early  years  some  traits  of  character 
were  exhibited  which  developed  themselves  in  beauti- 
ful proportions  in  later  life.  She  was  then,  as  ever, 
remarkable  for  a  cheerful  and  vivacious  turn  of  mind. 
Her  imagination  was  busy  and  bright,  and  her  mem- 
2 


y 


14 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS. 


ory  peculiarly  retentive  and  ready.  She  excelled  her 
young  mates  in  the  delectable  art  of  telling  stories, 
which  she  easily  learned,  and  narrated  with  absorbing 
interest.  Her  faculty  of  observation  was  uncommon, 
and  she  seemed  animated  with  an  eager  desire,  and 
persevering  purpose,  to  •acquire  all  the  knowledge 
within  her  reach ;  and  hence  the  inquiries  which  she 
proposed  to  every  one  with  whom  she  conversed  were 
frequent  and  sensible,  as  her  remarks  were  intelli- 
gent and  interesting.  She  was  also  very  fond  of 
reading,  so  that  from  books,  observation,  conversa- 
tion and  reflection  —  the  four  great  sources  of  knowl- 
edge—  she  acquired,  as  years  passed  on,  somewhat 
extensive  information  of  men  and  things,  which  was 
a  fund  of  entertaining  thought  to  herself  in  after  time, 
and  also  of  agreeable  and  useful  intercourse  with  society. 
She  possessed  a  naturally  amiable  temper,  and  as 
soon  as  she  had  knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  seemed 
religiously  inclined.  Beside  the  ordinary  saying  of 
prayers,  to  which  the  children  of  Christians  are  gene- 
rally accustomed,  she  had,  when  a  child,  frequent  sea- 
sons of  prayer,  and  of  reading  the  Bible  by  herself 
in  her  own  room.  She  was  favored  with  parents  who 
taught  her  the  fear  of  the  Lord,  and  who  were  blessed 
in  having  their  instructions  followed  by  the  influences 
of  the  Holy  Spirit  in  the  ultimate  conversion  of  all 
their  children.  Three  of  their  four  children  have  died 
in  the  faith  of  Christ,  and  have  now  joined  the  glori- 
fied spirit  of  their  mother  in  the  paradise  ?.bove. 
How  blessed  for  a  family  so  to  live  as  to  miss  no  one 
of  their  number  in  the  bliss  of  heaven  !     May  the 


HANNAH   M.    PICKARD. 


1« 


rest  safely,  though  late,  arrive  in  that  "  continuing 
city," 

"  Where  immortal  spirits  reign." 


Though  Hannah  was  thus  prayerful  and  serious,  and, 
about  her  eleventh  year,  as  she  afterwards  thought, 
felt  some  of  the  joys  of  religion,  she  did  not  profess  to 
have  experienced  a  change  of  heart,  and  the  forgive- 
ness of  sins,  until  after  her  removal  from  Concord. 

In  the  year  1826  her  parents  were  engaged  to  take 
charge  of  the  boarding  establishment  connected  with 
the  Wesleyan  Academy  at  Wilbraham,  Mass;  This 
was  soon  after  the  opening  of  the  school,  and  Mr. 
Thompson  abandoned  a  lucrative  business,  and  an 
agreeable  situation,  for  the  purpose  of  contributing 
to  the  success  of  this  enterprise  among  New  England 
Methodists,  and  especially  of  placing  his  children 
under  decidedly  religious  influences.  At  great  per- 
sonal inconvenience  he  removed  his  family,  and  estab- 
lished them  there,  in  the  early  spring  of  that  year. 
It  was  at  the  time  of  their  removal  to  Wilbraham  that 
I  first  saw  Hannah.  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  Acade- 
my. We  had  been  travelling  on  the  same  route  many 
miles,  in  different  coaches,  and  I  did  not  particularly 
observe  her,  till  when,  within  about  eight  miles  of  our 
destination,  we,  and  her  two  sisters  were  placed  in 
the  same  coach  together.  She  was  only  a  child  of 
thirteen  ;  but  the  lively  interest  which  she  showed  in 
relation  to  the  school,  the  good  sense  which  she  mani- 
fested in  her  inquiries  and  observations,  the  sweetness 
of  her  disposition,  and  the  simplicity  of  her  manners, 


16 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


h 


impressed  upon  my  mind  a  remembrance  which  was 
never  eflaced,  and  which  was  blended  with  every  idea 
of  her  which  I  subsequently  formed. 

At  Wiibraham  she  attended  school  at  the  Academy, 
and  was  considered  a  successful  and  proficient  scholar. 
She  was  particularly  pleased  with  the  difficult  and 
higher  branches  which,  to  youth  of  her  age,  are 
usually  so  annoying.  The  Latin,  Greek  and  French 
languages  were  her  delight,  and  she  would  pursue  the 
study  of  them  out  of  school  hours  as  a  recreation. 
Algebra  and  Geometry  were  pleasurable  rather  than 
irksome ;  and  it  was  in  the  solid  branches  of  knowl- 
edge that  she  excelled  during  her  relation  to  the 
school  as  pupil.  The  admirable  taste  and  art  which 
she  afterwards  exhibited  in  various  ornamental  accom- 
plishments, were  much  later  acquisitions.  By  her  pre- 
vious studies  she  formed  a  character  of  persevering 
industry,  acquired  a  nice  discrimination  of  the  beauties 
of  nature,  art  and  literature,  disciplined  her  faculties, 
and  prepared  the  way  for  her  future  delicate  and 
beautiful  exhibitions  of  taste  and  genius. 

During  the  first  revival  of  religion  in  the  Academy, 
in  which  many  of  the  students  shared,  her  own  religious 
feelings  became  deeply  interested.  This  was  the  first 
season  of  general  religious  interest  which  herself  and 
sisters  had  ever  witnessed.  They  had  been  taught 
religion  it  home ;  but  in  the  town  of  Concord,  where 
they  had  resided  since  their  very  early  childhood,  there 
was  only  occasionally  evangelical  preaching.  The 
clergyman  and  church  in  the  village  were  Unitarian. 
But  though  good  morals  were  inculcated,  they  were 


W'^"li'*l"'!-*J'' 


"v^: 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


\% 


such  as  could  be  performed  without  the  renewal  and 
sanctification  of  the  heart,  and  were  considered  not 
inconsistent  with  balls,  assemblies,  and  parties  of  pleas- 
ure. In  these  a  deeper  interest  was  manifested  by  the 
people  generally  than  in  the  subject  of  personal,  spirit- 
ual religion.  Though  the  sisters  might  sometimes 
have  felt  an  inclination  to  seriousness  in  conversation 
with  their  parents,  they  drank  into  the  spirit  of  gaiety, 
and  the  love  of  fashion,  which  pervaded  the  people  of 
the  place.  Hannah,  being  the  youngest,  was  indeed 
less  exposed  to  such  influences  than  the  others,  but  she 
had  not  become  a  decided  Christian. 

Mr.  Thompson  and  his  wife  were  now  permitted  to 
rejoice  in  finding  their  daughters  brought  under  a 
religious  influence,  which  awakened  deeper  feelings  of 
regard  for  their  own  personal  salvation,  than  they  had 
ever  before  realized.  It  is  true,  these  feelings  of  inter- 
est did  not  permanently  aflect  them  all  from  that  time, 
though  they  may  have  given  a  direction  to  their  views, 
which,  together  with  other  circumstances,  led  them 
ultimately  to  Christ.  Hannah,  however,  ceased  not  to 
seek,  until  she  obtained  and  manifested  satisfactory 
evidence  of  pardon  of  sin,  and  peace  with  God.  Her 
parents,  convinced  of  the  genuineness  of  her  conver- 
sion, allowed  her,  though  young,  to  unite  with  the 
Methodist  Society,  and  to  make  a  public  profession  of 
religion.  In  the  religious  impression  made  upon  the 
minds  of  their  daughters,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thompson 
hoped  to  realize  the  fulfilment  of  their  highest  wishes. 
How  many  parents,  like  them,  have  placed  their  chil- 
2* 


/ 


18 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


dren  in  that  Seminary,  with  the  same  fervent  desire 
and  hope  of  seeing  them  attain  a  truly  Christian  char- 
acter.    And  the  teachers  and  officers  of  the  school 
were  not  wanting  in  endeavors  to  bring  their  young 
charge  to  Jesus,  as  well  as  to  train  them  in  useful 
knowledge  and  intellectual  discipline.     God  has  gra- 
ciously heard  the  prayers  of  parents  and  teachers,  and 
signally  blessed  the  Institution  with  frequent  and  pow- 
erful revivals.     O  that  they  might  be  still  vouchsafed ! 
The  time  came  when  several  of  the  young  converts 
were  to  acknowledge  Christ  in  the  holy  ordinance  of 
baptism.     Though  Hannah's  parents  were  Methodists, 
they  had  omitted  what  I  conceive  to  be  an  important 
and  interesting  duty  of  Christian  parents — the  conse- 
cration of  their  infant  children  to  God  by  baptism.     It 
appears  clear,  that  as  infant  children  are  in  a  state  of 
absolute  jnstificatian  by  the  free  gift  which  has  come 
upon  all  men,*  and  are  thus  entitled  to  admission  to 
heaven,  dying  in  infancy,  as  well  as  to  the  blessings  of 
God's  kingdom   here  as  far  as  they  are  capable  of 
enjoying  them,f  it  is  the  duty  of  Christian  parents  to 
recognize  this  great  truth  by  the  visible  sign  which 
Christ  has  appointed  to  shadow  forth  the  justifying 
merit  of  his  death.     And  it  seems  to  me  that  the  bap- 
tism of  infants  exhibits  in  a  striking  manner  the  great 
principle  of  justification  by  faith,  in  precisely  the  same 
way,  and  with  the  same  significance,  as  circumcision 
did  in  the  case  of  Abraham's  posterity  .J     The  sign 


•  Rom.  vi.  18.  f  Mark  x.  14. 

\  Rom.  iv.  11—13. 


/ 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


19 


great 


applied  to  infants  implies  that  it  is  <'  not  by  works  of 
righteousness  which  we  have  done,  but  by  his  mercy 
he  saved  us."  Tit.  iii.  5.  It  indicates  that  it  is  the 
blood  of  Christ  which  washes  away  sin,  by  faith  and 
not  by  works,  when  faith  can  bo  exercised,  and  without 
faith  or  works  either,  when  neither  can  be  exercised. 

The  rite  was  performed  by  Dr.  Fisk,  then  Principal 
of  the  Academy.  I  remember  the  occasion  well.  It 
was  on  a  pleasant  Sabbath ;  and  was  a  deeply  inter- 
esting season  to  the  students  generally,  for  several  of 
their  number  were  to  publicly  consecrate  themselves  to 
God  in  this  holy  ordinance.  The  place  selected  for 
the  ceremony  was  a  beautiful  pond,  a  mile  and  a  half 
from  the  village.  The  still  air  ruffled  not  the  surface 
of  the  little  lake,  and  hushed  the  soul  into  quiet  musing 
on  the  works  and  ways  of  God.  The  blessed  sunlight 
of  a  summer  Sabbath  shed  its  glorious  beauty  over  the 
face  of  nature ;  and  the  solemn  services  of  the  day 
prepared  the  spectators  for  a  profitable  contemplation 
of  the  scene.  After  suitable  devotional  exercises,  the 
venerated  and  beloved  servant  of  the  Lord,  in  token  of 
the  washing  away  of  sin,  and  as  a  living  sacrifice  to  God, 
baptized  her  with  water,  in  the  name  of  the  Father, 
and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  Then  rose 
the  hymn  of  praise  ;  then  ascended  the  earnest  suppli- 
cation that  the  solemn  covenant  might  never  be 
forgotten ;  then  the  apostolic  benediction  was  pro- 
nounced ;  and  the  multitude,  who,  with  attending 
angels,  had  witnessed  this  delightful  scene,  dispersed,  in 
silent  meditation,  or  serious  converse,  to  their  homes. 


20 


MOIR   OF   MRS. 


■^^ 


It  was  a  novel  and  beautiful  sight  to  behold  one  at  her 
early  age,  publicly  renouncing  the  amusements,  the 
vanities  and  the  friendship  of  the  w^orld,  and  devoting 
herself  to  her  Saviour  in  a  sacred  and  perpetual  cove- 
nant. The  vows  she  then  made  were  ever  afterward 
remembered  ;  and  though  seasons  of  spiritual  darkness 
aiid  declension  occurred,  she  never  resumed  the  offer- 
ing which  she  had  made  of  herself  to  God.  Though 
young,  she  withstood  the  temptations  by  which  others 
fell,  and  retained  her  connection  with  the  society  till 
her  death. 

I  take  pleasure  in  introducing  to  the  reader  a  letter 
received  from  the  Rev.  Charles  Adams,  now  Principal 
of  the  Wilbrahan  Academy,  which  contains  some 
interesting  reminiscences  of  our  sister,  a  part  of  which 
I  will  here  insert,  as  it  is  appropriate  to  this  chapter  of 
her  earlier  history.  This  tribute  of  memory  is  the 
more  acceptable  as  it  came  unsolicited,  and  is  the 
offering  of  an  affectionate  heart,  which  loves  to  treas- 
ure up  the  fond  recollections  of  youthful  days. 

WiLBRAHAM,  Nov.  S5,  1844. 
My  dear  Brother  Otheman, 

Since  the  death  of  your  excellent  sister,  Mrs. 
Hannah  Thompson  Pickard,  I  have  often  regretted 
that  my  opportunities  for  her  acquaintance  were  neces- 
sarily so  limited ;  for  I  have,  for  several  years,  been 
accustomed  to  regard  her  as  one  of  those  rare  and 
select  beings  whom  a  gracious  Providence  vouchsafes 
to  earth,  to  gladden  and  adorn,  for  a  few  days,  the 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


SI 


circles  of  human  society,  and  to  remind  mortals  of  that 
loveliness  which,  though  too  seldom  seen  on  earth,  yet 
blooms,  in  unfading  beauty,  in  brighter  worlds. 

I  saw  that  dear  young  lady,  for  the  first  time,  in  the 
summer  of  1827,  when  you  and  I  first  met  amid  the 
hallowed  scenes  of  Wilbraham,  where  we,  together 
with  herself  and  others  whose  names  I  would  love  to 
mention,  were  wont  to  associate  and  sympathize  in  the 
studies  connected  with  our  education,  under  the  guid- 
ance and  smiles  of  the  now  sainted  Fisk.  Hannah 
might  be  then  about  thirteen  years  of  age,  and  faithful 
memory  brings  vividly  to  my  eye  her  position  in  that 
interesting  circle.  Her  father  and  mother,  as  you 
know,  were  at  that  time  the  kind  and  beloved  guar- 
dians of  the  Students'  Boarding  Hall ;  and  Hannah, 
of  course,  while  she  was  recognized  as  a  student,  was, 
at  the  same  time,  contemplated  as  being  at  home,  and 
in  her  father's  house.  Hence,  if  more  liberties  were 
allowed  to  her  than  to  other  students  that  were  differ- 
ently circumstanced,  there  was  no  jealousy.  If,  now 
and  then,  even  in  "  study  hours,"  her  buoyant  step  and 
sprightly  laugh  were  heard  along  the  stairway,  or  as 
she  tripped  through  the  spaces,  no  student,  as  he  bent 
over  his  lesson,  thought  of  any  disorder ;  and  had  she, 
in  one  of  her  playful  sallies,  been  encountered  even 
by  the  serene  and  dignified  Principal,  I  fancy  he  would 
but  have  smiled  at  her  vivacity  rather  than  have  :°.- 
proved  her  for  what,  in  any  one  else,  had,  perhaps, 
been  deemed  irregularity. 

Hannah  was,  as  yet,  a  child — a  child  in  stature  and 
in  years ;  and  yet  she  failed  not  to  attract  the  notice 


i  V     ■ '.  -» 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


of  every  one.  Her  beautiful  simplicity,  her  uncommon 
sprightliness,  her  open  yet  modest  smiles,  her  artless 
loveliness,  all  won  for  her  the  friendship  and  love  of 
every  student ;  while  her  more  than  ordinary  intellec- 
tual qualities  commanded  the  respect  of  those  older, 
by  several  years,  than  herself.  She  was  my  companion 
in  one  of  those  mountain  rambles  in  which,  as  you 
recollect,  the  your.jj  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  Wes- 
leyan  Academy  were  accustomed,  now  and  then,  to 
associate :  and  my  opinion  of  her  superiority  and 
worth,  which  I  then  received,  remained  from  that  day 
to  the  present.  In  short,  my  impressions  of  Hannah 
at  the  period  named,  are,  with  tolerable  accuracy, 
expressed  in  an  extract  from  a  poetic  effusion,  delivered, 
not  many  years  since,  to  the  "  Young  Ladies  Literary  " 
of  the  Wesleyan  Academy,  and  in  which  herself  and 
the  ramble  just  alluded  to  were  briefly  noticed. 


.>■*.. 


"  Of  tender  age  was  that  sweet  child  ; 
And  as  she  talked,  and  sung,  and  smiled, 
I  seemed  her  dear  —  her  elder  brother, 
Son  of  her  own  beloved  mother. 
Her  form  was  fragile  as  the  blade 
That  waved  beside  the  path  we  strayed ; 
I  could,  nor  weary  once  nor  faint, 
Have  borne  her  up  that  mountain  height 
Within  the  arm  on  which  she  leant, 
So  slender  was  she,  and  so  light, 
And  yet  within  that  fragile  form, 
Fair  Genius  was  already  dawning, 
Pure  as  the  rays  that  circle  warm 
The  glowing  brow  of  radiant  morning." 


r.r  .".— ..■-,y5ar-;fty_>T_y 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


CHAPTER     II. 

Removal  to  Boston.  Love  of  the  City.  Social  and  Sensitive 
Nature.  Improvement  in  character.  Connection  with  the 
Sabbath  School.  Her  Writings.  Death  of  her  sister,  Susan. 
Becomes  Preceptress  at  Wilbraham.  Letter  to  her  Parents. 
Local  Associations.  First  passage  in  her  Journal.  Winter  at 
home.     Letter  to  her  Parents. 

In  the  year  1828,  her  family  removed  to  Boston, 
where  she  chiefly  resided  till  her  marriage.  She  spent 
a  year  at  the  Academy  after  her  parents  left,  and  then 
lived  at  home,  with  the  exception  of  the  seasons  which 
she  passed  at  Wilbraham  as  Preceptress.  In  Boston 
she  was  favored  with  peculiar  advantages  for  the  acqui- 
sition of  knowledge,  and  especially  for  the  cultivation 
of  her  taste  and  genius  in  the  ornamental  arts.  She 
was  very  fond  of  natural,  especially  of  rural  scenery ; 
but  she  dearly  loved  the  city  for  its  privileges  and 
associations.  She  highly  enjoyed  its  literary  and  reli- 
gious advantages,  and  formed  here  many  valued  and 
beloved  acquaintances.  She  delighted  to  consider 
Boston  as  her  home.  Its  cleanliness,  its  general  mor- 
ality, its  numerous  churches,  its  intelligent  population, 
its  literary  fame,  its  benevolent  institutions,  the  public 
spirit  of  its  citizens,  its  storied  recollections  of  puritanic 


_  ^'^j  I  '■,^x:,ikAtiitk^Ai,ii  1 J 


l 


24 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


I 


1 


piety,  and  patriotic  devotion,,  its  safe  and  quiet  homes, 
all  enshrined  in  it  the  ardent  attachment  of  her  heart. 
It  was  during  her  residence  at  home  after  her  return 
from  the  Academy,  that  her  filial  and  social  qualities 
were  more  fully  developed.  It  was  then,  amid  the 
endearments  and  the  vicissitudes  of  the  domestic  circle, 
that  she  acquired  such  a  heart-engrossinr  attnchment 
to  home,  as  rendered  succeeding  sen;  ii»i>nf  deeply 
afflictive  and  distressing.  She  sufferrH,  huwtvcr,  some- 
times, while  surrounded  by  those  -lerr  to  her  heart, 
from  that  exceeding  sensiiiverr  >-.  which  will,  now  and 
then,  question  the  continued  love  of  even  devoted 
friends.  Such  a  nature  never  forgets,  when  it  has  once 
loved,  and  dreads  to  he  forgotten.  But  in  those  who 
knew  her  she  failed  not  to  inspire  a  fond  attachment, 
and  a  high  esteem  of  her  intellectual  and  moral  worth 
which  secured  that  attachment.  The  exquisite  delight 
which  a  sensitive  nature  frequently  realizes  in  the  exer- 
cise and  assurance  of  friendship,  is,  on  the  whole, 
far  preferable  to  that  free  and  joyous  contidence  which 
an  easy  disposition  feels  in  the  undoubted  stability  of 
supposed  admirers.  The  steady  love  of  years,  which 
she  experienced  from  her  own  relatives  and  long  tried 
friends,  was  sufficient,  however,  to  dispel  all  fear  and 
doubt,  and  afforded  her  in  later  life  a  very  large  share 
of  pure  enjoyment.  The  following  brief  note,  written 
to  her  cousin,  MisFs  Joanna  Maynard,  whom  she  ten- 
derly loved,  and  \v:ti\  whom  sh'^  '^•nenl  niany  agreeable 
hours,  reveal;^  o.ictr  ijg  of  her  taste  and  sentiment  at 
this  time  of  her  life.  It  speaks  of  an  interview  which 
they  had  one  evening. 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


25 


"Joanna,  wo  have  been  sitting  this  evening,  watch- 
ing the  calm  moonlight,  as  it  fell  softly,  silently  around 
(is;  we  enjoyed  its  balmy  air,  and  its  soothing  quiet 
together: — its  hours  hu\"  fled,  and  we  can  never  sit 
again,  as  we  then  sat,  overshailowed  by  the  same  clonds, 
and  with  the  same  light  about  us.  Other  moons  /lavff 
passed  above  us,  other  evenings  as  much  beloved,  have 
glided  by  us,  and  are  forgotten  ;  and  thus  't  will  be 
of  this — its  transient  interest,  and  of  me.  This  ev-  n- 
ing  is  but  an  epitome  of  our  lives — changing,  changir  j; 
and  still  changing.  That  little  white  cloud,  hr  v  man 
forms  it  has  already  worn  ;  those  shadows  of  our 
chestnut  trees,*  they  are  lenf^thening,  varying  as  the 
moon  retires ;  and  soon  thes(  lovely  pageants  will  be 
lost  in  the  coming  darkness.  Is  it  not  thus  of  those 
who,  for  a  short  time,  mingle  in  our  path,  and  whom 
we  remember  (if  at  all)  but  as  ;  he  early  evening  shad- 
ows ?  Must  it  be  thus  of  me  1  No,  I  have  loved  you 
too  much !  Let  me  not  be  remembered  by  you  as  the 
delicate  shade,  the  beautiful  cloud,  or  the  waning 
moon  ;  but  as  the  steady  star,  which  shines  on  in  cloud 
and  storm,  although  appearing  to  ciange  its  place,  yet 
still  looking  upon  you  from  the  same  orbit." 

During  these  years  she  acquired  many  excellent 
habits  and  qualifications,  which  fitted  1  er  for  the  respon- 
sible station  which  she  was  soon  to  oc  cupy.  She  was 
not  remarkable,  at  this  time,  for  reli;_^ious  character. 
Indeed,  though  she  forgot  not  her  covenant  with  God, 
maintained  an  upright  life,  and,  as  opportunity  pre- 

•  The  Horse  Chestnut  is  a  favorite  shade  tree  in  Boston. 

3 


26 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


:  s 


ri 


sented,  (it  did  but  seldom,)  was  found  in  the  class  and 
prayer  meeting,  as  well  as  at  public  worship,  yet  her 
mind  seemed  to  be  occupied  with  numerous  concerns, 
and  she  allowed  herself  too  little  'attention  to  the  cul- 
tivation of  inward  holiness.  This  she  exceedingly 
regretted  afterwards  ;  and,  especially,  lest  her  deport- 
ment might  have  exerted  an  injurious  influence  on  her 
associates.  The  latter  years  of  her  residence  in 
Boston,  however,  were  years  of  spiritual  growth,  of 
Christian  labor,  as  well  as  of  intellectual  improvement. 
This  increased  religious  interest  was  stimulated,  doubt- 
less, by  an  event,  to  be  narrated,  which  was  calculated 
to  revive  and  impress  upon  her  mind  all  the  obligations 
of  religion,  and  all  the  solemn  associations  connected 
with  her  relation  to  another  world. 

She  obtained,  also,  while  residing  at  home,  a  sense 
and  power  of  self-dependence,  most  important  in  dis- 
charging the  duties  of  life.  The  perseverance  with 
which  she  applied  herself  to  the  cultivation  of  her 
taste  and  talent  in  various  branches  of  art  and  knowl- 
edge, was  an  excellent  discipiine  for  her  mind,  and 
requisite  for  ultimate  perfection.  I  am  well  persuaded 
that  for  her  success  and  reputation  in  future  situations 
she  was  indebted  not  more  to  her  native  gifts,  than  to 
an  untiring  and  determined  habit  of  physical  endurance 
and  mental  application.  Difficulties  and  labors,  which 
would  have  deterred  many  a  delicate  lady  at  her  age, 
(and  she  was  never  robust  herself,)  were  courageously 
encountered  in  the  acquisition  of  valuable  attainments, 
as  though  she  were  excited  by  the  distinct  assurance 


'I 


\ 


k ._ 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


)me,  a  sense 


of  some  dazzling  advantage  to  be  won  by  assiduous 
toil. 

She  was  for  some  time  connected,  as  teacher,  with 
the  Bromfield  Street  Sabbath  School,  and  afterwards 
with  the  Blossom,  now  Russell  Street  Sabbath  School. 
She  manifested  in  these  schools  a  strong  interest  for 
the  welfare  of  her  scholars.  They,  in  turn,  became 
fondly  attached  to  her,  and  remembered  her  with  pecu- 
liar tenderness  when  she  was  no  longer  able  to  be 
present  with  them.  For  their  encouragement,  as  well 
as  to  contribute  to  the  general  interest  of  the  school, 
she  wrote  several  beautiful  articles  to  be  recited  in  the 
school  and  at  exhibitions.  Some  of  these  articles  will 
be  readily  recalled  to  mind  by  many  readers  of  this 
volume,  as  they  have  been  extensively  used  on  similar 
occasions  in  other  places. 

The  practice  of  writing  for  the  children  gave  exercise 
and  improvement  to  her  pen.  Though  she  never 
seemed  animated  with  an  ambition  for  literary  fame, 
she  furnished  occasional  contributions  for  several  peri- 
odicals. Many  of  these  productions  are  admirable 
specimens  of  fine  writing.  There  is,  in  all  her  writings, 
a  richness,  yet  chasteness  of  thought  and  expression, 
which  marks  her  mind  as  exquisitely  delicate  in  its 
perceptions  and  tastes.  Her  style  is,  in  general,  ornate, 
but  adorned  with  true  poetic  thoughts  and  images,  so 
as  to  entitle  it  to  be  called  the  Poetry  of  Prose.  Several 
of  these  articles  are  deemed  worthy  of  preservation  in 
connection  with  her  Memoir,  and  will  be  found  in  the 
latter  part  of  this  book.  While  in  Boston,  she  collected 
the  materials  of  several  deeply  interesting  narratives, 


■^f"^ 


28 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


d   i 


some  of  which  were  afterwards  published  in  a  couple 
of  small  volumes.* 

In  the  month  of  March,  1834,  a  scene  occurred  of 
thrilling  interest  to  her,  which  made  an  indelible  im- 
pression upon  her  susceptible  heart.  When  she  was 
but  eight  or  nine  years  old,  she  was  deeply  affected  by 
the  death  of  her  only  brother — a  very  estimable  and 
promising  lad  of  fifteen.  For  some  years,  however, 
the  family  circle  had  been  unbroken  ;  and  she  went  on 
unconscious  of  the  change  that  awaited  them,  happy 
in  her  associations,  and  gathering  strength  to  her  affec- 
tions from  every  day's  connection  with  the  remaining 
number.  But  her  affectionate  sympathies  were  now 
subjected  to  a  most  painful  trial — a  dearly  loved  sister, 
the  one  nearest  i'cr  own  age,  bid,  at  this  time,  a  last 
farewell  to  the  hopes  and  joys  of  earth,  and  sought  her 
home  in  fairer  worlds  above.  Susan  was  a  woman  of 
unusual  sprightliness  and  cheerfulness  of  mind,  and 
of  more  than  ordinary  personal  loveliness,  and  recip- 
rocated the  ardent  attachment  of  her  sister.  She  had 
been  married  about  three  years,  and  was  now  the 
mother  of  a  lovely  infant  boy.  During  her  sickness 
she  had  sought  and  found  the  Savior,  and,  though 
her  bodily  sufferings  were  most  excruciating,  she 
endured  them,  and  died  at  last,  in  great  ecstacy  and 
triumph.  It  was  heart-rending  to  hear  her  groans  of 
bodily  agony,  and  yet  soul-inspiring  to  witness  the 
heaven  of  joy  that  beamed  in  her  beautiful  eye,  and 
irradiated  her  dying   countenance.      Hannah's  heart 


*  Procrastination,  and  The  Widow's  Jewels. 


i^JKTJ^'S^  W^  ^  ''^fffl^  i' ' 


VTT'rm^rw^^r^ 


2d  in  a  couple 

le  occurred  of 
1  indelible  im- 
Vhen  she  was 
j|y  affected  by 
estimable  and 
ears,  however, 
id  she  went  on 
1  them,  happy 
h  to  her  affec- 
the  remaining 
lies  were  now 
ly  loved  sister, 
lis  time,  a  last 
md  sought  her 
as  a  woman  of 
of  mind,  and 
;ss,  and  recip- 
iter.     She  had 
was  now  the 
ig  her  sickness 
■,  and,  though 
ruciating,    she 
t  ecstacy  and 
her  groans  of 
o   witness  the 
ttiful  eye,  and 
annah's  heart 

Is. 


HANNAH   M.  PICKARD.  It 

was  wrung  with  anguish  at  the  sufferings  of  her  sister, 
and  was  profoundly  sensible  of  her  own  loss  when  that 
sister  ceased  to  mingle  in  the  company  of  earth.  She 
ever  after  renlizcd  a  lonely  place  in  her  heart,  and  felt 
that  earth  was  saddened  as  the  scene  of  so  much  suf- 
fering and  so  painful  separations.  There  are  affecting 
references  to  this  event  in  passages  of  her  journal, 
written  upon  returning  to.  Wilbraham,  and  also  in  a 
piece  entitled  "  Notes  of  Memory,"  which  the  reader 
will  find  among  her  Select  Writings.  This  event, 
though  the  bonds  of  human  attachment  and  earthly 
association  were  riven,  served  to  stimulate  her  attention 
to  the  important  interests  of  eternity,  and  led  to  in- 
creased devotion  to  her  God  and  Savior. 

In  the  year  1838,  Miss  Thompson  was  invited  to 
become  Preceptress  in  the  Wilbraham  Academy.  Her 
native  diffidence  led  her  to  shrink  from  the  observation 
and  responsibility  to  which  this  situation  would  subject 
her.  It  was  only  after  much  persuasion  from  her 
friends  who  knew  her  best,  and  who  had  full  confidence 
in  her  ability  to  fill  the  place,  that  she  at  length  con- 
sented, and  then  reluctantly,  to  accept  the  mvitation. 
She  entered  "  in  fear  and  much  trembling,"  upon  the 
important  and  laborious  service  ;  but  her  success  was 
most  signal  and  gratifying,  and  far  greater  than  her 
modesty  led  her  at  any  time  to  hope.  The  undertaking 
was  no  light  affair  for  one  of  her  delicate  bodily  organ- 
ization, and  so  unaccustomed,  as  she  was,  to  the  daily 
management  of  children  or  youth.  Tlie  charge  of,* at 
times,  over  a  hundred  young  ladies  of  all  rnoods  and 
manners,  required  a  versatile  and  vigorous  mind,  and,  in 
3* 


30 


MEMOIR    OF   MRS. 


order  to  successful  discipline  and  instruction,  a  large 
share  of  intellectual  attainments  and  moral  worth.  Of 
all  this  she  showed  herself  possessed.  And  her  genius 
and  taste  in  the  branches  of  instruction  to  which  she  was 
devoted,  her  happy  faculty  of  winning,  almost  uncon- 
sciously too,  the  esteem  and  attachment  of  her  pupils, 
the  excellent  moral  and  religious  influence  which  she 
exerted  over  them,  and  her  success  in  securing  the 
respect  and  confidence  of  her  fcllow-instructers,  ren- 
dered her  connection  with  the  Academy  creditable  to 
herself,  honorable  and  profitable  to  the  Institution,  and 
highly  beneficial  to  the  worldly  and  spiritual  interests 
of  the  young  ladies  in  her  department.  Out  of  school, 
she  took  a  lively  interest  in  all  the  literary  and  social 
interviews  and  exercises  by  which  the  minds  and  char- 
acters of  her  pupils  might  be  improved.  She  also 
zealously  engaged  in  the  benevolent  operations  of  the 
day,  and  devised  agreeable  plans  among  the  scholars 
for  the  increase  of  their  funds.  She  early  took  a 
class  in  the  Sabbath  School,  and,  during  a  large  part 
of  her  time,  taught,  on  the  Sabbath,  a  numerous 
Bible  Class,  which  was  made  delightfully  agreeable  and 
useful.  She  became  a  diligent  attendant  upon  all  those 
social  as  well  as  public  devotional  exercises,  by  which 
the  Methodist  Church  endeavors  to  advance  its  mem- 
bers "  in  grace,  and  in  the  knowledge  of  our  Lord  and 
Savior  Jesus  Christ." 

The  following  extract  from  a  letter  to  her  parents, 
written  in  an  unreserved  and  playful  humor,  will  give 
the  reader  some  idea  of  her  views  of  herself  and  cir- 
cumstances shortly  after  commencing  her  duties  in  the 
Academy. 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


31 


I 


WiLBRAHAM,  Sept.  22d,  1838. 

My  very  dear  Parents, 

I  know  well  that  news  from  me  can  never  come 
too  often  to  be  welcome.  Writing  to  you  is  next  in 
pleasure  to  receiving  a  letter  from  you,  and  the  latter, 
I  hope  you  will  remember,  makes  some  of  the  very 
brightest  moments  in  all  my  course  while  here.  Every 
day  but  proves  more  and  more  that  life  would  be  but 
little  worth  to  me,  when  unshared  by  any  of  you.  I 
am  one  of  the  quiet  ones  who  prefer  doing  well,  and 
am  willing  any  body  else  should  do  better  if  they 
please.  Perhaps  if  1  had  thought  so  three  weeks  since, 
I  might  have  done  more  wisely  ;  however,'there  are  but 
about  nine  weeks  more,  and  long  as  they  may  seem,  an 
end  will  come. 

From  my  last  letter,  you  supposed  that  I  had  not 
the  greatest  satisfaction  in  the  performance  of  my 
duties.  I  am  convinced  that  I  am  quite  out  of  my 
element ;  to  teach  '  young  ideas  how  to  shoot,"  would 
be  to  me  an  easier  task  than  directing  the  aim  of  older 
ones.  We  have  about  ninety-seven  young  ladies  con- 
nected with  the  school,  very  few  young,  but  from  the 
age  of  fifteen  to  thirty ;  and  I  need  not  assure  you,  it 
is  a  task  I  would  never  envy  any  one,  to  walk  in  and 
take  a  seat  in  the  centre  of  so  many  eyes,  all  fixed  upon 
me.  I  have  no  real  trouble  yet,  but  am  expecting 
something,  something,  every  day.  You  must  not 
think  me  dreadfully  gloomy  and  ungrateful.  I  hope  I 
shall  be  able  to  do  my  duty  ;  at  the  same  time  I  find 
a  very  strong  inclination  to  say  what  that  duty  is  ;  and 


3a 


MEMOIR  OP  MRS. 


while  I  think  I  wish  to  be  led,  am  constantly  choosing 
to  lead.  Indeed  I  hope  I  shall  never  see  it  my  duty 
to  stay  away  from  our  pleasant  home,  while  we  can  get 
along  so  pleasantly  and  profitably  together.  You  said 
you  thought  it  was  all  for  the  best ;  I  do  not  see  tuhy 
it  was  for  the  best.  But  true  it  is,  I  have  gone,  so  far, 
much  better  than  I  expected,  notwithstanding  I  feel  it 
so  irksome.  And  when  I  look  back,  I  cannot  help 
wondering  how  I  was  induced  to  accept  what  appeared 
to  me  so  difficult.  I  can  only  say  it  was  so,  and  I 
have  been  assisted  much  more  than  J  deserve.  You 
must  not  be  anxious  about  me.  Every  one  seems  very 
kind,  the  young  ladies  respectful  as  I  could  wish  ; 
almost  every  day  I  have  a  nice  apple  or  peach,  "  if 
Miss  Thompson  will  accept."  Mr.  Patten  is  very  kind. 
I  know  not  what  I  should  do  without  him,  or  with  any 
one  else ;  he  is  one  of  the  very  best ;  does  all  in  his 
power  to  make  me  happy.  I  attend  to  my  duties  now, 
but  constantly  with  another  object  in  view,  which  seems 
to  me  greater  than  all  the  rest,  that  of  returning  to 
you.     One  term  will  be  glory  enough  for  me. 

You  must  take  much  love ;  be  sure,  I  never  knew 
I  loved  you  so  much  before.  I  suppose  there  is  no 
need  to  add  my  name.  H. 


We  have  had  occasion  to  observe  that  our  sister 
loved  the  city :  but  she  was  also  an  ardent  admirer  of 
the  works  of  God.  The  scenery  and  associations 
that  surrounded  her  in  Wilbraham,  were  eminently 
calculated  to  cherish  her  love  of  nature,  and  the  gentle 
feelings  of  her  heart.     Not  only  was  there  much  in 


/! 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


as 


antly  choosing 
see  it  my  duty 
lile  we  can  get 
ler.     You  said 
lo  not  see  ivhy 
e  gone,  so  far, 
inding  I  feel  it 
I  cannot  help 
what  appeared 
was  so,  and  I 
deserve.     You 
one  seems  very 
I  could  wish  ; 
or  peach,  "  if 
en  is  very  kind, 
m,  or  with  any 
does  all  in  his 
my  duties  now, 
w,  which  seems 
of  returning  to 
■or  me. 

I  never  knew 
ose  there  is  no 
H. 

hat  our  sister 
cnt  admirer  of 
d  associations 
vcre  eminently 
and  the  gentle 
there  much  in 


the  varied  landscape  to  excite  her  admiration,  and 
much  in  her  connection  with  the  school  to  call  into 
exercise  benevolent  and  generous  emotions,  but  Wil- 
braham  was  to  her  a  place  of  endeared  recollections 
and  of  hallowed  associations.  Here  she  had  spent 
several  of  the  fresh  and  buoyant  years  of  childhood, 
when  busy  fancy  invests  every  object  with  peculiar 
charms ;  here  she  had  acquired  a  great  relish  for  lite- 
rary attainments ;  and  here,  especially,  she  had  given 
her  heart  to  Christ  and  to  his  church  in  early  and 
happy  consecration.  True,  she  had  occasion  to  sigh 
over  sad  scenes  witnessed  far  away,  and  the  recollec- 
tion would  tinge  with  melancholy  some  of  the  visions 
of  the  past,  and  temper  some  of  the  high-wrought 
emotions  which  present  objects  were  calculated  to 
produce.  But  is  there  not  a  softer  hue  given  to  char- 
acter by  these  chastenings  of  the  spirit  ?  Does  not  a 
milder,  richer  radiance  invest  the  soul  of  friendship 
and  piety,  as  it  reflects  on  the  departing  glory  of  those 
who  die  in  the  Lord  ? 

The  following  reflections,  which  are  contained  in  a 
small  note  book,  connect  interesting  notices  of  her 
departed  sister  with  familiar  points  of  local  scenery 
that  have  been  endeared  to  many  a  youthful  heart. 
They  seem  to  be  the  first  of  those  occasional  mus- 
ings which  partake  of  a  character  higher  or  diflferent 
from  that  of  a  journal,  but  which,  for  convenience 
sake,  we  shall  designate  by  that  name. 

"  WiLBRAHAM,  Sabbath  night,  Sept.  16, 1838.  Here 
once  more,  after  the   intervention   of  many  eventful 


t 


S4 


MEMOIR   OF  MRS. 


years !  Eventful  ?  Ay.  Those  mountains  bold  still 
stand  upon  their  firm  foundations,  deep  in  the  sunless 
caverns  of  the  earth  ;  sublime  but  insensate  ;  seeming 
eternal,  yet  without  a  spark  of  that  celestial  essence 
which  alone  endues  with  immortality.  The  rocks  re- 
main the  same ;  and  trees  the  same,  but,  with  increas- 
ing size,  have  worn  and  changed,  and  worn  and 
changed  their  coronal  of  leaves.  The  little  brooks 
appeal'  the  same,  in  just  such  murmuring  haste.  Then 
why  eventful  ?  If  none  of  these  can  tell  the  story, 
then  ask  it  of  the  heart.  O !  'tis  there  change  keeps 
its  own  unfading  record.  Ask,  and  o'er  its  faithful 
tablet  gently  come  the  lineaments  of  one  most  loved, 
now  sleeping  in  the  tomb;  of  one  whose  presence  in 
fond  association  mingles  with  every  point  of  this  rich 
landscape.  Once,  alive  to  its  attractions,  we  together 
loved  its  scenes ;  together  sought  the  wild  flower 
nursed  upon  this  soil,  or  from  the  bent  bush  together 
pulled  the  clustering  berries.  O  Susan  !  like  a  presid- 
ing genius  of  the  place  seems  thy  pure  spirit  now  to 
me.  Like  an  angel  guest,  thou  seemest  present  when 
I  am  else  alone,  although  the  mortal  vision  and  the 
heavy  ear  ai'e  not  sensible  of  thy  approach,  for  in 
loneliness  with  silence,  tiiou  dost  condescend  to  be 
my  kind  companion. 

"What  is  her  employment  this  sacred  evening? 
Somewhere  she  is  now,  with  pleased  obedience,  wait- 
ing the  will  of  God ;  perhaps  adding  her  voice  to  that 
of  the  innumerable  company  in  holiest  adoration  round 
the  throne  ;  perhaps  beside  the  pillow  of  some  dying 
■aint,  whispering  in  the  weary  ear  those  tones  of  hope 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


85 


and  faith  which  once,  in  that  dar^.  hour,  were  joy  to 
her ;  perhaps  she  comes  to  watch  our  steps,  to  inspire 
those  high  resolves  of  faithfulness  which  sometimes 
come  within  our  hearts,  pure  as  if  shed  by  some  bless- 
ed spirit's  influence.  But  we  shall  meet  again.  Will 
that  moment  find  me,  like  herself,  arrayed  in  light  ? 
Sisters  once  on  earth,  agam  more  nearly  united  by 
holiest  affection,  shall  we  be  angel  sisters  there,  enjoy- 
ing the  smiles  of  our  heavenly  Father  in  that  brighter, 
happier,  unchanging  home  for  ever  ?  " 


The  winter  following  this  term  was  spent  by  our 
sister  in  the  beloved  circle  of  her  friends  at  home. 
During  this  time,  she  recreated  herself  amid  the  re- 
freshing joys  of  friendship,  and  the  familiar  scenes 
and  interesting  privileges  of  our  goodly  metropolis, 
and  endeavored  to  improve,  by  practice,  in  the  several 
branches  of  instruction  in  her  department  at  Wilbra- 
ham,  preparatory  to  her  re-employment  in  the  spring. 
Two  or  three  elements  of  her  mental  constitution 
combined  to  render  her  sometimes  unhappy  in  her 
connection  with  the  school  —  extreme  sensitiveness 
and  self-distrust,  and  a  remarkably  adhesive  attachment 
to  home  and  friends.  The  influence  of  conflicting  cir- 
cumstances, however,  and  especially  the  controlling 
power  of  moral  and  religious  sentiments,  counteracted, 
to  a  great  extent,  any  injurious  eflect  upon  her  char- 
acter, arising  from  these  constitutional  tendencies.  It 
is  important  to  remember  these  particulars  in  estimat- 
ing the  bearing  of  certain  expressions  that  may  be 
found  in  her  correspondence  and  other  writings.     The 


36 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


following  portion  of  a  letter  to  her  parents,  written 
during  the  Spring  Term  of  1839,  will  be  better  un- 
derstood by  such  a  reference.  The  letter  is  quite 
characteristic,  and  is  inserted  chiefly  on  that  account. 

Wesletaw  Academt,  April  30,  18139. 
Dear  Parents : — 

The  smallest  incident  in  your  every  day  course, 
which  I  should  scarcely  notice  at  home,  now  be- 
comes clothed  with  no  ordinary  interest ;  and  the 
thought  which  brightens  my  most  weary  and  gloomy 
moments,  is  about  what  you  have  last  written,  may 
next  write,  or  what  I  shall  write  to  you.  Per- 
haps, then,  you  will  wrnder  why  I  have  not  written 
before,  for,  indeed,  a  long  time  has  passed;  but  —  I 
have  not  been  all  the  time  in  the  best  spirits,  and 
thought  it  better  to  wait  until  my  letters  should  not 
be  "  doleful,"  as  Emma  intimates  with  regard  to  my 
first,  which,  by  the  way,  /  thought  an  uncommon 
specimen  of  zood  cheer  for  me,  and  cost  me  quite  an 
effort.  But  as  the  time  for  which  I  have  been  waiting 
has  not  yet  dawned  upon  me,  and  I  fear  may  be  far 
distant,  I  will  seat  myself  again  at  my  desk,  to  give 
you  another  solo  on  the  "  black  keys,"  as  pianists 
say. 

I  received  father's  letter  by  this  evening's  mail,  ac- 
companied by  one  from  Joanna.  I  was  glad  enough 
of  them  both,  you  may  be  sure.  One  of  the  young 
ladies  had  just  come  in  to  make  a  call  when  they  ar- 
rived. I  sat  with  the  greatest  uneasiness,  so  hurried 
was  I  to  read  them.     She  favored  me  with  her  society 


fc 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


ay   course, 


about  half  an  hour.  Just  as  she  was  leaving,  ai  her 
called,  and  another.  There  lay  my  letters,  both  open, 
from  neither  of  which  had  1  got  a  taste ;  nor  did  I 
finally  shut  the  door,  and  sit  down  to  enjoy  them,  for 
nearly  two  hours.  I  am  glad  you  are  all  doing  so 
well  at  home  ;  in  about  ninety  days  I  hope  to  be  there 
again;  —  to  think  that  I  have  been  here  only  three 
weeks !  Time  is  an  old  man,  and  needs  rest ;  he  m  .st 
have  sat  down  to  sleep  somewhere.  What  a  delight- 
ful walk  you  must  have  had,  father,  out  to  N.,  admir- 
ing the  face  of  the  earth,  sonnetting  to  the  trees  and 
birds  in  such  fine  style.  When  I  look  upon  the  trees 
and  buds  here,  it  is  but  to  remind  me  how  pleasant  the 
horse-chestnuts  are  beginning  to  look  in  our  good  city. 
I  suppose  you  wish  to  hear  something  from  the 
school.  All  moveff  on  about  the  same,  so  far  as  rules 
are  concerned.  There  are  some  more  than  one  hun- 
dred 3'oung  ladies  here  this  term,  and  more  in  this 
house  than  have  ever  been  before,  and  none  of  the 
steadiest  heads  either,  requiring  not  a  little  skill  to 
keep  them  in  ordsr.  Mr.  P.  does  all  he  possibly  can 
to  relieve  me  from  too  much  care ;  still  I  cannot  lay  it 
aside  altogether  or  in  part,  with  such  a  freakish  set. 
They  are  quite  agreeable  and  respectful  toward  me,  so 
far  as  I  perceive,  with  the  exception  of  one  develop- 
ment of  self-esteem  from ,  about  my  age,  but 

very  unwilling  to  render  aught  to  Caesar  of  his  due. 
However,  I  have  got  out  of  every  difficulty  I  have  met 
with  as  yet.     It  is  eleven  o'clock ;  good  night. 

Yours  most  affectionately,  Hannah. 


38 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


CHAPTER  III. 


Sketch  of  her  Character.  Use  of  Religious  duties.  P.eligion,  the 
Perfection  of  Character.  Grateful  Memorial.  Acquaintance 
with  Mr.  Pickard.  Letter  to  Mr.  Pickard.  Journal.  Reflec- 
tions.    Letter  to  Mr.  Pickard. 


4 


Our  sister  had  now  been  one  year  connected  with 
the  Academy  as  Preceptress  ;  and  having  sperit  a  short 
Summer  vacation  at  home,  had  returned  to  fulfil  her 
appointed  labors  with  increased  efficiency  and  success. 
As  she  became  more  familiar  antf  interested  in  her 
duties,  the  rare  and  estimable  qualities  of  her  mind 
and  heart  were  more  fully  developed  ;  and  she  only 
showed  increasing  power  of  execution  with  increasing 
demands  upon  her  talents. 

It  is,  indeed,  delightful  to  contemplate  her  character 
at  this  time  of  her  life  —  which  was  only  the  more 
rapidly  matured  in  her  subsequent  history  —  her  native 
simplicity,  her  refined  taste  and  sentiment,  her  poetry 
of  thought  and  feeling,  her  exquisite  sense  of  the  deli- 
cate and  beautiful  in  nature  and  art.  Emotion  was 
a  striking  characteristic  of  her  mental  constitution,  and 
consequently  developed  itself  in  her  social  intercourse, 
and  in  the  productions  of  her  pen.  It  played  over 
her  countenance  as  the  sunshine  and  the  shade  over 
the  face  of  nature.     And,  as  her  heart  was  the  seat  of 


HANNAH   M.    PICKARD. 


much  native  good  humor,  the  sunshine  of  a  ready 
smile  was  the  prevailing  expression  on  her  features. 
This  became  more  constant  in  after  years,  when  the 
increasing  glow  of  divine  love  increased  the  joy  of  her 
heart,  and  the  benignity  of  her  mien.  Amiability  — 
not  a  passive  amiability,  such  as  there  is  but  little 
credit  or  virtue  in  exhibiting  because  other  strong 
traits  are  wanting — but  an  amiability  which,  while  it 
was  natural,  was  also  cultivated  as  a  necessary  grace 
and  accomplishment,  was  a  crowning  beauty  of  her 
social  and  moral  character.  But  however  much  there 
was  to  admire  in  the  excellence  of  her  disposition,  the 
sprightliness  of  her  wit,  the  richness  of  her  imagination, 
the  sincerity  and  ardor  of  her  social  affections,  the  sen- 
sibility of  her  heart,  the  refinement  of  her  taste  and 
manners,  the  beauty  of  her  productions  in  literature  and 
the  ornamental  arts,  still  there  was  much  more  to  admire 
in  the  depth,  the  purity,  the  spirituality  of  her  religious 
life. 

Foi  a  few  years  past  her  religious  feelings  had  be- 
come much  improved.  This  improvement  was  partly, 
perhaps  greatly,  owing  to  her  employment  in  duties 
which  required  the  exercise  of  strong  religious  princi- 
ple and  affections.  This  was  the  case  in  her  previous 
connection  with  the  Sabbath  School,  but  more  particu- 
larly, in  her  daily  intercourse  with  the  young  ladies  of 
the  Academy.  Scarcely  any  thing  serves  more  effec- 
tually to  arouse  religious  interest,  than  the  actual 
discharge  of  religious  duties.  Could  the  careless, 
backslidden  professor  be  induced  to  engage  in  those 
exercises  which  may  be  called  the  socialities  of  religion, 


40 


MEMOIR    OF   MRS. 


his  sense  of  moral  obligation  and  his  religious  feelings 
would  be  greatly  quickened  and  revived.  To  converse 
with  our  friends  and  neighbors  on  the  subject  of  per- 
sonal piety,  to  attempt  the  relief  of  suffering,  to  teach 
children  and  youth  the  truths  of  religion,  to  be  placed 
in  situations  where  we  realize  that  our  influence  is 
exceedingly  important  on  the  moral  interests  of  others, 
serves  to  produce  this  result.  Hence  many  a  young 
person,  who  has  engaged  in  teaching  in  a  Sabbath 
School  class,  without  the  personal  enjoyment  of  religion, 
has  soon  begun  to  realize  the  need  of  it,  and  been  led 
to  embrace  it.  And  it  is  this  principle  which,  among 
other  things,  shows  the  adaptation  of  the  various  social 
relations  to  promote  the  cause  of  true  religion. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  delightful  to  witness  what  a 
lustre  religion  can  shed  on  the  brightest  genius,  on  the 
most  exalted  station  ;  how  adapted  it  is  to  develope 
the  human  faculties  and  feelings  ;  and  how  well  it 
qualifies  men  for  the  various  situations  and  relations  in 
which  Providence  places  them.  I  do  not  mean  that 
it  should  be  relied  on  to  the  exclusion  of  other  influ- 
ences, and  other  qualifications,  but  that  it  powerfully 
aids  in  acquiring  others,  and  is  an  indispensable  requi- 
site to  the  completion  of  the  means  of  usefulness. 
How  agreeable  to  the  eye  are  the  various  and  beautiful 
forms  of  vegetable  life;  how  delightedly  do  we  con- 
template the  sweet  prospects  of  "  mountain,  glade  and 
glen,"  the  charming  varieties  of  land  and  water  scen- 
ery ;  but  where  were  all  this  beauty  without  the  light 
of  heaven?  What,  indeed,  were  all  these  charms 
without  the  glorious  Summer-sunlight  which  adds  an 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


41 


indescribable  loveliness  to  all  the  objects  of  nature  and 
of  art  ? 

*'  Sunbeam  of  sammer,  O  !  what  is  like  thee  ? 
Hope  of  the  wilderness,  joy  of  the  sea !  ^ 

One  thing  is  like  thee,  to  mortals  given, — 
The  faith,  touching  all  things  with  hues  of  Heaven." 

And  who  can  behold  the  endless  variety,  the  gran- 
deur and  immensity  of  the  vjrorks  of  (lod,  veithout 
realizing  that  the  crowning  glory  is,  that  a  Supreme 
Intelligence  made,  and  sustains,  and  governs  all  ?  His 
presence  of  benignity  and  love  pervades  all  being.  He 

"  Warms  in  the  sun,  refreshes  in  the  breeze. 
Glows  in  the  stars,  and  blossoms  in  the  trees. 
Lives  through  all  life,  extends  through  all  extent. 
Spreads  undivided,  operates  unspent." 

So  with  the  human  character.  Though  there  may  be 
many  estimable  and  admirable  qualities  in  an  individual, 
yet  if  the  influence  of  a  divine  and  heavenly  religion 
be  wanting,  a  painful  deficiency  is  realized — a  lack  of 
that  perfection  which  renders  him  most  useful  to  his 
fellow-men,  and  which  alone  can  abide  the  scrutiny  of 
angels  and  of  God. 

The  following  precious  memorial  of  gratitude  to 
God,  I  find  inscribed  by  our  sister  in  the  detached  kind 
of  journal  already  mentioned,  a  few  days  after  her 
return  to  Wilbraham  for  the  Fall  Term. 

"Saturday,  Aug.  31,  1839. — This  is  the  last  day 
of  Summer  —  the  last  day  of  the  most  blessed  month 
4* 


\ 


.■y-:i-^^ii  :i^k!^ili»lJt,l'^Ji  ^ 


42 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


■■'!:  ■ 


Wr 


of  my  life.  When  Spring  first  came,  I  ventured  to 
cast  a  look  towards  the  scenes  which  advancing  Sum- 
mer might  have  in  store  for  me ;  dim,  confused,  and 
uncertain,  indeed,  were  the  delineations  which  my 
fancy  pictured  then ;  like  the  variable  March,  cloudy, 
stormy  and  sunny  by  turns,  seemed  the  future  unto 
me.  I  saw  some  budding  hopes  put  forth,  which  I 
prayed  might  live ;  and  some  which  seemed  so  fair 
and  frail,  I  felt  as'sured  that  they  would  die.  Into  His 
hands  I  commended  them,  who  gives  His  storms  a 
charge  concerning  Summer's  frailest  flower,  nor  lets 
the  falling  rain,  or  heavy  dew-drop  mar  its  angel-tinted 
beauty. 

"And  now  the  months  are  passed.  I  stand  upon 
their  farthest  verge,  while  the  shadows  of  coming 
Autumn  lie  even  at  my  feet,  and  look  again  toward 
His  throne  with  heartfelt  praise  and  song  of  gratitude. 
I  love  Him,  for  as  I  ptf^:  along  the  dangerous  path  of 
life,  He  gently  guides  me  on.  I  love  Him,  for  all  along 
its  course  He  calls  around  the  fresh  and  fair,  the  bright 
and  beautiful.  He  bids  the  young  buds  blossom  into 
open  joys,  and  revives  the  drooping  ;  and  if  some  are 
early  blasted  from  which  I  once  had  hoped  to  gather 
sweets,  I  know  it  is  because  the  odor  of  their  matured 
bloom  would  have  fallen  on  my  soul  in  dampness,  blight, 
perhaps — in  death.  I  love  Him,  because  not  only  may 
I  pluck  from  what  is. born  of  earth,  joys  doomed  to 
change  and  fade  ;  not  only  taste  the  pleasures  which 
sparkle  here ;  but  He  gladdens  my  heart  with  visions 
of  ever-during  bliss  above,  where  are  the  fountains  of 
living  water  to  which  He  will  lead  our  feet ;  where  He 


/ 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


43 


sheds  abroad  His  own  glorious  Spirit,  and  reveals 
Himself  to  the  adoring  society  which^His  compassion 
once  redeemed,  which  His  unslumbering  watchfulness 
has  guided  to  His  presence";  which  love,  pure,  omnipo- 
tent, everlasting  love,  now  crowns  with  joy  such  as  the 
purest,  holiest,  highest  thought  from  earth  can  never 
echo  back."  • 

In  Wilbraham,  Miss  Thompson  first  saw,  and  com- 
menced acquaintance  with  Mr.  Pickard,  her  future 
husband.  This  was  in  the  spring  of  1839.  He  was 
then  a  student  at  the  Wesleyan  University,  in  Middle- 
town,  Conn.,  and  was  on  a  visit,  during  vacation,  to 
the  Wilbraham  Academy,  where  he  prepared  for  Col- 
lege. Mr.  Pickard  graduated  in  the  Summer  of  that 
year,  and,  on  his  return  to  his  native  province,  com- 
menced an  epistolary  correspondence,  which,  on  her 
part  is  marked  by  all  the  beautiful  and  affectionate  sim- 
plicity characteristic  of  her  mind  and  manners.  A  large 
portion  of  these  letters  is  well  adapted  foe  public  perusal, 
as  expressing  sentiments  of  no  mere  "  piivateinterp/eta- 
tion."  The  following  alludes  to  his  voyage  to  New- 
Brunswick  from  Boston,  where  he  had  been  detained 
by  stress  of  weather. 


\ 


Wesleyan  Academy,  Sept.  7,  1839. 

My  dear  Friend, 

Your  interesting  letter  of  the  26th  ult.  I  received 
night  before  last ;  it  was  sooner  than  hope  had  prom- 
ised, yet  pleasant  tidings  are  not  the  less  acceptable 


44 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


for  coming  unexpectedly.  Gladly  do  I  now  withdraw 
myself,  for  a  short  time,  from  the  many  cares  by  which 
I  am  surrounded,  to  attempt  an  early,  and  something 
like  a  worthy  reply  ;  yet  were  it  not  that  I  may  submit 
it  to  your  kind  forbearance,  I  might  be  almost  discour- 
aged from  presenting  to  you  a  communication  so 
unenlivened  by  interesting  incident.  The  panorama 
of  life  in  our  quiet  village  offers  little  change  for 
"  lookers  on,"  ergo  you  will  pardon  the  obtrusion  of 
the  convenient  and  important  ego. 

I  was  glad  that  you  could  discover  so  many  circum- 
stances to  contribute  to  your  enjoyment  in  those  days 
which  must  have  passed  so  wearily,  and  almost  as  if 
detaining  you  from  the  sweet  scenes  of  home.  Sta- 
tionary as  my  star  has  ever  been,  I  scarcely  knew  what 
to  imagine  of  your  course,  or  when  to  think  it  ended  ; 
and  could  only,  by  way  of  association,  while  remaining 
in  that  haven  of  east  winds,  glance  idly  but  involun- 
tarily towards  the  clouds,  studying  their  changes,  in 
which  practice  I  had  of  late  acquired  some  skill.  But 
that  was  not  all.  In  the  evening,  leaning  against  my 
window,  forgetful  of  the  busy  preparations  of  the  day, 
forgetful  of  all  circumstances  immediately  about  me,  I 
looked  upward  to  the  calm,  pure  sky,  and  was  thankful 
that  such  glory  rested  not  alone  upon  the  city,  nor  upon 
the  land,  but  also  on  the  sea.  Then,  while  enjoying 
those  rapt,  undefinable  emotions  which  such  an  hour, 
and  such  a  light,  ever  inspire,  my  thoughts  stole  away 
without  message  or  direction,  in  quest  of  a  voyager 
upon  its  pathless  depths ;  and  when  they  at  last  re- 
turned it  was  with  a  report  more  vague,  perhaps,  than 


X 

-»?; 


HANNAH   M.  PICKARD. 


U 


Watchers  love,  yet  sad  and  sacred.  They  spoke  of 
one  «*  homeward-bound,"  and  said  that  Fancy  had 
borne  him  onward  in  joy  to  the  friends  who  awaited 
his  coming  ;  that  when  he  found  not  some,  whose  pres- 
ence had  so  endeared  those  early  scenes,  his  thoughts 
went  up  to  that  better  home,  and  mingled  with  those 
who  had  gone  to  its  unbroken  rest ;  then,  they  said 
that  his  mind  turned  trembling  to  the  high  and  holy 
duties  to  which  he  had  devoted  himself;  then,  listen- 
ing attentively,  I  heard  them  whisper  that  some  thoughts 
lingered  around  the  shore  he  was  leaving,  and  that 
none  of  his  friends  were  quite  forgotten  ;  then  they 
reminded  me  of  the  long  time  which  must  elapse  ere 
that  voyager  might  return  ;  officiously  summoned  up 
shadows  which  might  darken  the  future,  and  —  I  has- 
tily dismissed  them. 

In  reading  your  letter  I  pause  upon  the  words,  "  I 
am  almost  ready  to  say,  New-England  shall  be  my 
home."  A  wish  awakens  in  my  heart,  which  I  date 
hardly  acknowledge  to  myself;  yet  I  know  that  varia- 
tions from  the  course  which  Providence  reveals  as  duty, 
not  only  deserve  to  fail  of  securing  the  good  proposed, 
but  ever  do  deprive  us  of  His  favor  which  is  fife,  and 
His  loving  kindness  which  is  better  than  life.  Sweet 
as  are  all  the  enjoyments  of  earth,  and  delightful  as 
would  be  to  me  the  anticipations  I  might  then  indulge, 
yet  if  such  be  not  His  will  who  maketh  all  things 
work  together  for  our  good,  my  heart,  I  trust,  is  ready 
to  relinquish  the  thought,  having  confidence  in  Him  in 
all  things,  grateful  if  (to  use  your  words)  I  may  "  trace 
the  finger  of  Providence "  in  the  cherished  remem- 


46 


MEMOIR   OP   MRS. 


brances  of  the  past,  then  sacredly  commit  to  His  car6 
every  event  of  the  future,  and  —  "be  happy." 


# 


# 


r 


Another  of  those  sweet  emanations  from  her  heart, 
already  mentioned  as  composing  her  journal,  is  found 
in  the  small  album  from  which  the  first  was  taken.  Its 
beauty  of  expression  is  only  equalled  by  the  purity  of 
her  sentiment,  and  the  depth  of  her  devotion.  It 
closes  too  abruptly,  as  though  the  thought,  which  so 
frequently  recurred  amid  the  early  associations  of  Wil- 
braham,  had  absorbed  her  meditations,  and  arrested 
her  pen. 

"  WiLBRAHAM,  Sabbath  Night,  Sept.  15,  1839. — 
Another  '  eventful  year '  has  passed  away !  I  turn  a 
single  page  to  make  an  entry  of  its  flight  upon  this 
little  Souvenir.  So  large  a  portion  of  my  life's  short 
pilgrimage  has  been  so  soon  measured !  How  soon, 
indeed,  it  seems ;  yet  were  I  to  number  mercies  as  I 
number  hours  or  moments,  how  vast  would  be  the 
sum  !  I  look  around  me  and  within  —  thought  is  lost 
amid  the  dazzling  multitude  of  priceless  blessings. 
Through  all  the  days  of  this  swift  year,  beams  of  the 
*  all-beholding  sun'  have  blest  my  way;  but  richer 
gifts  from  the  upper  sky  have  been  more  freely  given. 
The  deep  forests  are  again  clothed  with  myriads  of 
leaves,  but  the  gifts  of  God  are  more  countless !  — the 
bounties  of  his  Providence  daily  bestowed ;  the  bless- 
ings of  love,  hope,  memory ;  and  richer,  holier  far 
than  all,  the  blessings  of  his  grace  —  pardon  of  sin, 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


47 


faith  in  Christ,  and  promises  of  everlasting  life.  O, 
more  than  an  angel's  portion,  all  the  brightest  treasures 
of  that  eternal  world  are  offered  to  frail,  erring  human 
nature ! 

"  O  my  soul,  what  dost  thou  here  ?  no  emotion,  no 
love,  no  gratitude !  I  seem  to  hear  the  voice  of  her 
who  has  now  numbered  another  year  amid  that  happy 
band  above.  While  I  have  been  slumbering  upon 
earth,  she  has  been  learning  a  *  new  song ; '  been 
advancing  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  throne.  While 
darkness  has  settled  around  my  steps,  she  has  been 
changing  from  glory  lo  glory.  O  my  sister  !  once  we 
lived,  and  loved,  and  walked  together ;  now  how  far 
are  we  separated !" 


I  shall  be  able  to  present  the  reader,  occasionally, 
with  a  few  passages  of  a  more  regular  form  of  diary, 
though  contained  on  loose  sheets  of  paper,  which, 
however,  if  not  more  oracular,  are  more  truthful  and 
more  precious  than  the  famous  Sibylline  leaves.  To 
the  serious  Christian  they  will  furnish  evidence  of  her 
deeper  searchings  of  heart,  more  earnest  spiritual 
desires,  and  richer  experience  of  divine  things.  To 
all  they  will  evince  her  thorough  sense  of  the  value 
and  importance  of  personal  religion.  Would  that 
all  who  read  might  be  led  by  her  example  to  as 
wise  a  renunciation  of  the  hollow  joys  of  the  world, 
and  as  entire  and  blessed  a  consecration  to  the  service 
of  our  God  and  Savior.  The  following  serious  reflec- 
tions will  introduce  her  character  to  the  pious  mind 
in  a  very  favorable  light  —  chiefly,  however,  as  in  a 


48 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


, 


transition  state  preparatory  to  more  extended  useful- 
ness and  enjoyment. 

'Friday  Morning,  Oct.  11. —  In  seven  weeks 
from  yesterday  will  be  Thanksgiving.  Then  I  hope  to 
be  at  home.  Home !  a  thousand  blessings  on  the 
word  !  most  significant  of  all  the  sweet  hopes  and 
wishes  of  the  heart !  O  that  I  may  be  forgiven  the 
distrust  and  discontent  which  so  unfit  my  mind  for 
receiving  with  gratitude  the  innumerable  blessings 
given  me,  and  for  the  pure  contemplation  of  that  bet- 
ter and  enduring  home  above. 


I,* 


"  Sabbath  Morning,  Nov.  3. — '  O  for  a  closer 
walk  with  God  ! '  I  have  endeavored  this  morning  to 
give  myself  anew  to  Christ.  Knowing  the  wayward- 
ness of  my  affections,  the  deceitfulness  of  my  heart, 
and  the  feebleness  of  my  resolution,  I  tremble  at  the 
thought  of  entering  into  covenant  with  a  being  of 
perfect  holiness — even  the  great  God  ;  yet  I  remem- 
ber that  it  may  be  with  Him  as  He  reveals  Himself  in  the 
face  of  Jesus  Christ.  O,  I  pray  for  grace  to  keep  me, 
that  I  may  live  to  His  glory.  O  for  an  abiding  sense 
of  His  presence  ;  this  only  can  keep  me.  Long  have 
I  dwelt  and  walked  with  the  world,  and  with  those 
\vho  followed  its  spirit.  Now  it  is  enough  —  I  would 
now  give  up  all:  take,  O  take  me  to  Thy  care,  my 
$:?avior.  From  this  worldly  state,  sometimes  for  a 
few  days,  I  have  raised  feeble  petitions  and  desires  to 
Thy  throne;  but  from  this  state  I  would  now  rise 
myself.     O  receive  me,  or  I  fall  again.     Let  me  dwell 


■ .%?. 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


49 


ied  useful- 


ven  weeks 
n  I  hope  to 
igs  on  the 
hopes  and 
srgiven  the 
y  mind  for 
c  blessings 
of  that  bet- 


)r  a  closer 
morning  to 
wayward- 
my  heart, 
Tible  at  the 
a  being  of 
1 1  remem- 
mself  in  the 

0  keep  me, 
iding  sense 
Long  have 
with  those 
—  I  would 
y  care,  my 
mes    for   a 

1  desires  to 
now  rise 

it  me  dwell 


\1 


l^i 


with  "^hee,  O  Lord ;  and  may  my  love  to  the  world 
be  as  occasional,  as  faint,  as  have  been  my  thought 
and  affection  for  Thee.  May  I  prove  the  promise 
made  to  those  whose  '  life  is  hid  with  Christ  in  God.' 
I  would  now  renounce  all  for  Thee. 

•  Poor  as  it  is,  'tis  all  my  store, 
More  should 'st  thou  have,  if  I  had  more.' 

"Sabbath  Morn,  Nov.  10. —  I  have  sweet  hope 
and  consolation  in  God.  How  rich  His  mercy  !  How 
condescending  His  love !  How  free  and  full  His 
promises  to  us  in  Christ  Jesus !  How  unceasing  His 
care  and  long-suffering  to  us-ward.  O  that  my  heart 
may  be  melted  in  gratitude  to  Him  for  His  unspeaka- 
ble gifts.  O  that  my  soul  may  be  stayed  upon  Him, 
and  be  daily  becoming  more  and  more  free  from  sin, 
possessing  more  and  more  of  the  image  of  Christ. 
This  is  the  will  of  God,  even  our  sanctification.  O 
that  this  were  mine.  O  that  I  might  receive  it  now 
through  faith  in  Christ.  I  know  it  is  my  privilege ; 
yet,  sometiiing  whispers  it  is  not  for  me ;  I  could  not 
maintain  it  if  I  possessed  it;  but  —  'Mi/ grace  is  siiffi- 
cient  for  thee ! ' 

"Monday,  Nov.  11. —  It  is  a  lovely  morning,  but 
O,  how  lovely  to  my  heart  open  the  sweet  scenes 
which  lie  before  me.  I  have  calm,  sweet  enjoyment 
in  my  Savio«-  this  morning. 

'The  opening  heavens  around  me  shine, 
With  beams  of  sacred  bliss, 
For  Jesus  shows  His  mercy  mine, 
And  whispers,  /  am /fi«.' 


50 


MEMOIR   OF   M 


RS. 


"Monday,  Nov.  18. —  To-night  I  have  enjoyed 
iweet  communion  with  God  in  prayer.  O  that  He 
would  reveal  all  His  will  in  me,  and  enable  me  to  ful- 
fil all  His  requirements.  He  has  shown  me  to-day 
something  of  my  unworthiness ;  it  has  humbled  me ; 
yet,  O,  I  cannot  see  it  as  it  must  be  seen  by  Him ;  in 
mercy  He  conceals  from  me  its  depth  and  darkness. 
O  how  merciful ! 

"  What  a  life  I  have  led  for  weeks,  and  months,  and 
years;  how  full  of  self  and  vanity;  how  far  I  have 
strayed  from  Him  whom  I  professed  to  follow.  What 
a  wonder  of  grace  that  I  was  not  long  since  cut 
down  as  a  cumberer  of  the  ground.  O  why  was  I 
spared  ?  For  all  these  years  my  path  has  been  all 
blessings ;  and  now,  after  so  long  time,  He  enables  me 
to  feel  a  desire  to  be  unreservedly  His ;  now  He  stili 
calls  me  with  the  voice  of  love.  He  has  added  brighter 
hopes  of  happiness  in  this  life  to  the  same  rich  offer 
of  everlasting  life.  What  depth  of  mercy  !  Had  He 
awakened  me  to  the  subject  by  danger  and  afflictions  — 
but  He  has  led  me  with  more  than  parental  gentle- 
ness and  love.     What  can  I  say  ? 

'  Here,  Lord,  I  give  myself  away, 
'T  is  all  that  I  can  do.' 

"  O  help  me  to  serve  Thee  faithfully,  if  Thou  art, 
indeed,  fitting  me  for  usefulness. 

"  Saturday  Night,  Nov.  23.  —  It  is  to  me  a  solemn 
hour,  for  it  closes  the  last  week  of  the  term.  I  look 
back  with  humility,  with  feelings  painfully  melanchoW, 


f 


e  enjoyed 
)  that  He 
me  to  ful- 
me  to-day 
nbled  me ; 
y  Him ;  in 
darkness. 

lonths,  and 
far  I  have 
w.     What 

since  cut 
vhy  was  I 
s  been  all 
enables  me 
w  He  stiii 
ed  brighter 

rich  offer 

Had  He 

Hictions  — 

tal  gentle- 


Thou  art, 

le  a  solemn 
m.  I  look 
nelanchoW, 


HANNAH    M.    PICKABD.  ftl 

and  yet  withal  a  mingling  of  gratitude ; — how  imperfect, 
and  often  ineffectual,  have  been  my  efforts  to  promote 
the  highest  interests  of  those  with  whom  I  have  been 
surrounded.  O  that  I  could  recall  those  opportunities 
of  usefulness,  for  I  have  Tailed  in  them  —  I  have  failed 
in  them !  How  much  might  have  been  accomplished 
in  our  community  by  a  spirit  of  fervent,  humble  piety ! 
Imperceptibly,  yet  certainly,  it  would  have  spread  a 
sacred  influence  upon  all  around ;  and  although  the 
*  thought  were  broken,  language  lame,'  yet,  if  sustained 
by  the  living  principle  of  faith  unfeigned,  it  would  not 
have  been  lost,  but  would  have  added  to  His  glory  and 
to  my  bliss  in  the  eternal  world.  But  it  is  past.  The 
reflection  overwhelms  me  ;  my  heart  almost  ceases  its 
beatings  before  so  stupendous  a  thought  —  but  God  is 
greater  than  my  heart,  and  knoweth  all  things.  If, 
while  I  attempt  to  recall  the  scenes  of  i  few  months 
past,  to  talk  with  those  months, 

*  And  ask  them  what  report  they  've  borne  to  heaven, 
And  how  they  might  have  borne  more  welcome  news ; ' 

if,  while  incompetent,  as  I  now  am,  to  realize  the  respon- 
sibilities of  life,  incapable  of  seeing  them  as  they  are  seen 
in  heaven,  the  thought  so  sickens  and  overwhelms  me, 
how  can  I  bear  the  r^^v^lations  of  the  last  day  !  This 
surely  must  be  <  the  death  that  never  dies, ' —  to  gaze 
constantly  upon  a  life  all  misimproved,  with  the  bright 
light  of  truth  for  ever  beaming  upon  its  devious  course, 
revealing  all  the  thoughts,  emotions,  deeds  !  O,  it  is  a 
fearful  thing  to  live,  though  that  life  be  passed  in  the 
lowliest  sphere  which  the  hand  of  Providence  could 


52 


M.'^MOIR    OF    MRS. 


trace  for  the  immortal  mind ;  yet  can  wc  not  forget 
that,  Joncly,  ^eluded,  uncultured, 'tis  still  —  the  im- 
mortal  ?m/ic?  — still  has  duties  to  perform  worthy  of  its 
destiny,  and  in  view  of  rii,d«teous  retribution  !  " 

As  usual,  while  she  was  Preceptress,  Miss  Thompson 
spent  the  ensuing  winter  at  home  —  a  word  of  magic 
power  to  her,  to  endue  at  once  with  life  all  thoughts 
and  feelings  most  delightful  to  the  heart.  And  what 
she  so  ardently  anticipated,  she  as  eagerly  enjoyed.  I 
will  close  this  chapter  with  extracts  of  a  letter  to  Mr. 
Pickard,  which  left  her  amid  the  rest  and  comfort  of  her 
small  though  much  loved  family  circle.  It  contains 
expressions  of  personal  unworthincss,  similar  to  those 
which  appear  in  her  reflections  at  the  close  of  the 
term. 


"Boston,  Jan.  14,  1840.  I  am  not  remarkably 
interested  in  observing  times  and  seasons,  but  there 
are  some  days  I  can  never  pass  by  without  some- 
thing like  thought  —  of  these,  the  last  day  of  the 
year  is  with  nic  most  attractive  to  reflection.  As  I 
have  no  events  of  much  importance  with  which  to  fur- 
nish you  a  rich  treat,  I  must  occupy  some  of  this  fair 
surface  with  the  plain  materials  of  domestic  manufac- 
ture, and  will  tell  you  a  little  of  my  commencement  of 
the  new  year. 

"  Mother  was  not  very  well,  and  retired  early  ;  fatl>er 
went  to  the  '  Watch  Meeting ; '  but  I,  who  felt  tLat  I 
had  much  to  transact  in  my  own  mind,  preferred  to 
waich  alone  by  our  parlor  fire.    Accordingly,  assuming 


y- 


not  forget 
—  the  im- 
orthy  of  its 

i!" 

Thompson 

I  of  magic 

II  tlioughts 
And  what 

njoyed.  I 
Iter  to  Mr. 
ifort  of  her 
It  contains 
ar  to  those 
ose  of  the 


emarkably 
but  there 
lout  some- 
lay  of  the 
ion.  As  I 
ich  to  fur- 
of  this  fair 
manufac- 
icement  of 

rly ;  father 

feh  tliat  I 

referred  to 


assummg 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


idul 


a  posture  most  indulgent  to  thought,  I  was  soon  sur- 
rounded by  my  best  friends,  that  is,  yo^inow,  Iways 
those  we  love  best.  The  company  w fueled,  and  not 
very  crowded  —  there  were  clergymefi,  and  laymen, 
and  sisters.  The  scene  was  very  satisfactory  to  me, 
for,  as,  beside  taking  lead  in  the  conversation  myself,  I 
furnished  them  all  with  something  to  say ;  of  course  it 
could  not  be  otherwise  than  just  what  my  vanity  dicta- 
ted. I  held  my  levee  nearly  an  hour,  and  dismissed 
them  all  soon  after  the  clock  struck  twelve,  with  mutual 
good  wishes.  But  you  must  not  think  I  could  pass 
over  the  time  which  seems  so  to  connect  the  past  and 
future,  without  some  more  serious  emotions  than  I  have 
beeil  describing.  I  tried  to  fix  my  eye  steadily  upon 
the  3?fear,  the  last  sands  of  which  were  about  to  mingle 
with  the  irrevocable  past.  It  was  a  moment  of  painful 
interest  —  I  have  never  known  one  as  much  so — fori 
had  never  passed  a  year  so  crowded  with  high  respon- 
sibility and  opportunities  for  usefulness.  The  thought 
thai  those  opportunities  c-^uld  never  return  to  afford 
me  a  chance  of  retrieving  neglect,  of  correcting  errors, 
of  amending  even  the  best  of  my  deeds,  but  all  un- 
worthy as  they  left  me,  so  I  must  again  meet  them, 
became  almost  overwhelming.  When  suddenly,  wea- 
ried with  these  reflections,  and  almost  disheartened 
from  farther  attempts,  a  text  of  incomparable  sweet- 
ness came  to  my  mind,  '  Behold  the  Lamb  of  God  ! ' 
I  think  that  in  some  degree  1  feel  the  import  of  this, 
but  what  an  infinite  fulness  is  in  it  which  I  too  little 
apprehend  !  My  dear  friend,  you  know  not  how" unfit 
I  am  for  anything  like  usefulness ;  surrounded  by 
4* 


I 

84  MEMOIR    OF   MRS. 

blessings  and  privileges,  I  have  failed  in  performing  the 
least  of  Hi^conunandments,  and  wonder  that  His 
mercy  shoul(^et  give  me  so  much  as  the  strong  desire 
I  now  feel  to  serve  Him  better.  When  your  prayers 
ascend  for  the  most  unworthy,  may  I  not  then  believe 
m/self  remembered  ? 

"  Do  not  again  think  of  the  spirit  of  my  words  more 
highly  than  you  ought  to  think  —  it  is  very  embarrassing 
to  appear  better  than  one  really  is.  I  must  still  say, 
friendship,  however  sincere,  can  ask  for  you  no  more 
than  the  one  thing  most  valuable  —  a  heart  waiting  'to 
learn  the  will  of  divine  Providence,'  and  submitting  its 
own  to  that,  in  the  assurance  that  'He  will  ful  i  the 
desires  of  them  that  fear  Him,'  and  make  their  paths 
plain.  We  have  but  to  turn  an  eye  to  the  past  years  of 
life  to  be  convinced  that  we  know  not  what  are  really 
the  important  or  unimportant  circumstances  which 
come  to  our  share  as  events  pass  by  ;  often  those  which 
appeared  too  small  to  be  the  objects  of  a  tlK)ught  at 
the  time  of  their  occurrence,  are  of  sufficient  impor- 
tance to  influence  the  whole  course  of  life.  I  have 
had  frecjuent  opportunities  for  observing  this  myself, 
yet,  after  all,  I  fear  I  have  not,  with  you,  that  firm 
trust  in  Him,  with  whom  are  all  circumstances  and 
their  consequences. 

"  I  am  already  beginning  to  look  across  into  the 
second  week  in  April  with  some  apprehension.  I  wish 
May  came  between  March  and  April.  But  I  confess 
it  is  wrong  for  mc  to  shrink  so  from  a  situation  which, 
as  I  have  never  sought,  I  must  believe  to  be  an  arrange- 
ment of  Providence." 


A' 

1 .' 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


55 


""■^'^ 


>rming  tlie 
that  His 
ong  desire 
ur  prayers 
en  believe 

ords  more 
barrassing 
t  still  say, 
u  no  more 
raiting  '  to 
>mitting  its 
1  fu.  .;  the 
heir  paths 
Lst  years  of 

are  really 
ces  which 
lose  which 
tlK)ught  at 
ent  impor- 
e.  I  have 
his  myself, 

that  firm 
ances  and 

s  into  the 
)n.  I  wish 
t  I  confess 
ion  which, 
n  anange- 


CHAPTER  IV. 


Principal  object  of  the  Memoir.  New  Term,  reflections.  Trust 
in  God.  Benevolent  Association.  Letter  to  Mr.  Pickard.  Her 
interest  in  personal  holiness.  Robert  Newton.  Close  of  the 
Term.     Fair  for  Oregon.     Belief  in  Special  Providence. 

Some  readers  may  possibly  regret  that,  in  this  vol- 
ume, no  more  details  are  furnished  of  her  labors  in  the 
school.  But,  in  the  first  place,  such  details  would  not 
be  particularly  interesting,  as  they  were  chiefly  the 
ordinary  routine  of  practice,  though  superior  in  kind, 
in  the  ornamental  department  of  the  Academy.  In 
the  next  place,  the  bare  recital  of  such  details  would 
be  of  little  service,  unaccompanied  with  suitable  ex- 
planations, and  an  enlightened  statement  of  principles, 
for  which  I  profess  no  ability  or  skill.  But  above  all, 
it  was  the  principal  desire  of  her  husband  and  friends 
that  her  bright  example  of  social,  moral  and  Christian 
virtues  -should  be  held  up  for  the  imitation  of  others  in 
the  various  relations  of  life ;  as  well  as  to  honor  the 
grace  of  God  ,which  was  so  admirably  displayed  in  her. 

The  quiet,  retiring  disposition  of  our  sister  caused 
her  to  become  the  subject  of  but  few  striking  incidents 
in  her  course  of  life ;  at  least  of  s  jch  as  might  occur 
to  a  bolder  and  more  confident  line  of  conduct.   True, 


X 


(.^ 


r.Vr'^.'^^'^?  :y"  "^ 


56 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


she  was,  now  and  then,  devising  and  promoting  some 
plan  to  add  to  the  interest  and  usefulness  of  nar  pupils, 
as  may  be  noticed  in  her  journal  by  and  by.  Yet  her 
chief  ambition,  or  aim  at  least,  seemed  to  be  to  perform, 
in  the  most  perfect  and  beautiful  manner,  the  services 
and  duties  required  of  her  at  the  time,  cultivating,  as 
best  she  might,  a  simple  and  childlike  submission  and 
conformity  to  the  high  and  holy  will  of  God. 

With  what  emotions  and  purposes  she  entered  upon 
the  cares  of  another  term,  the  reader  will  see  in  the 
annexed  passages  from  her  diary. 


i 


p 


"Tuesday  Evening,  April  7,  1840.  —  The  sun  is 
just  setting  beyond  the  plains  where  I  have  so  many 
times  watched  its  declining  light ;  and  now  I  '•  li 
it  once  again,  separated  from  Home,  and  its  cor  -d 
joys,  surrounded  by  high  responsibilities,  and  with  no 
strength  in  myself  to  sustain  them.  I  feel  calm  and 
supported.  The  darkness  which  I  saw  hanging  over 
my  way  a  few  days  since,  I  do  not  find.  What  is  this  ? 
Can  I  hope  it  is  truly  assistance  and  comfort  from  God  ? 
I  should  think  it  so  indeed,  had  I  not  by  murmurings 
and  repinings  proved  myself  unworthy,  so  unworthy. 
Yet  it  must  be  from  above.  I  will  believe  that  some 
whose  prayers  are  acceptable  before  the  Throne  of 
grace,  have  interceded  for  me.  I  will  believe  that 
God,  of  his  unfailing  mercy  and  exhaustless  love,  listens 
to  those  prayers,  and  will  aid  me  to  discharge  those 
duties  which  his  own  Providence  has  so  evidently 
marked  out  for  me.  *Away,  sad  doubt  and  anxious 
fear.' 


./;' 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


57 


loting  some 
ii3r  pupils, 
Yet  her 
to  perform, 
he  services 
tivating,  as 
mission  and 
1. 

itered  upon 
see  in  the 


The  sun  is 
'e  so  many 
iw  I  '>  M 
i  cor  ^  i 
nd  with  no 
1  calm  and 
inging  over 
hat  is  this  ? 
from  God  ? 
nurmurings 
unworthy. 
that  some 
Throne  of 
)elieve  that 
ove,  listens 
large  those 
evidently 
nd  anxious 


"April  15.  —  Have  just  been  reading  Rev.  Mr. 
F.'s  letter  on  Christian  Perfection.  How  deep,  and 
full,  and  glorious  was  his  experience.  What  is  mine  ? 
O  Thou,  from  whose  eye  no  secret  can  be  hid,  pity  my 
folly,  my  ignorance  of  Thee,  my  darkness  and  stupidity. 
O  help  pe  that  I  may  know  more  of  Thyself.  O  re- 
flect love  into  my  heart  that  I  may  more  fully  and 
constantly  '  3  Thee.  Thou  must  give  the  power ; 
O,  aid  me  to  give  up  my  hold  upon  the  world  for  happi- 
ness, and  to  seek  only  that  which  cometh  from  above. 
Would  that  [  had  unwavering  confidence  in  a  faithful 
God.  Would  that  the  presence  of  Christ  were  more 
constantly  manifest  to  me,  and  die  precious  blood  of 
sacrifice,  with  which  I  have  been  bought,  were  yet  more 
and  more  the  subject  of  my  thoughts. 

"Friday  Morn,  June  5.  My  dear  brother  and  sis- 
ter are  now  on  their  way  home  —  to  my  hom£  I  — 
while  r  am  left  here  alone  to  discharge  the  many  du- 
ties devolving  upon  me ;  and  yet  /  am  not  alone,  for  I 
know  that  One  is  with  me  who  cannot  disown  or  for- 
get me.  While  He  commands  to  pray,  while  He 
invites  to  prayer,  while  He  encourages  us  to  come  to 
the  Mercy  seat  from  which  he  ever  listens,  how  can  we 
be  alone?  'Tis  true,  He  is  a  Sovereign,  and  sits  upon 
a  throne,  but  it  is  a  throne  of  mercy  —  thus  Majesty 
is  blended  with  compassion ;  and  we  may  have  com- 
munion with  the  glorious  Author  of  our  spirits,  and 
intercourse  with  Him  who  suffered  upon  the  cross  to 
redeem  them.  I  will  remember  Thee,  O  Thou  Holy 
One  —  and  in  Thy  glorious  kingdom,  Lord,  '  remember 
me.' 


LfiilL^^»u  ^_'.jv  ^,...'±<... 


.:^,,. 


58 


MEMOIR  OF  MRS. 


"Wednesday  Evening,  June  24.  —  On  Monday 
evening  our  company  met,  and  formed  themselves  into 
a  benevolent  association  for  the  support  of  a  little  girl 
in  Oregon,  once  benighted  Oregon,  now  merging  into 
light.  It  is  little  that  we  can  do ;  the  wiser  and  greater 
in  this  world  might  despise  what  may  seem  ai^  ineffec- 
tual effort.  'T  is,  indeed,  trifling,  yet  't  is  all  which 
now  seems  practicable  for  us,  and  -. —  the  altar  sancti- 
fieth  the  gift.  May  our  humble  efforts  receive  the 
blessing  of  Him  from  whose  gracious  lips  these  conde- 
scending words  once  fell." 

On  the  26th  of  June  she  wrote  Mr.  Pickard  a  letter 
in  which,  after  referring  to  his  personal  experience 
narrated  in  one  to  her,  she  more  particularly  c  etails 
some  of  her  views  and  feelings  in  relation  to  the  state 
of  grace  denominated  Christian  Perfection,  or  perfect 
love.  This  subject  had  begun  to  occupy  much  of  her 
thoughts,  and  to  awaken  strong  desires  for  more  reli- 
gion. I  hope  the  reader  will  carefully  note  every  step 
in  the  progress  of  her  mind  to  a  full  appreciation  of  the 
necessity  and  freeness  of  this  blessing,  and  to  the  full 
enjoyment  of  its  glorious  experience. 

The  letter  also  relates,  somewhat  circumstantially, 
an  interesting  visit  to  Springfield,  for  the  purpose  of 
hearing  Rev.  Robert  Newton  preach. 

"  My  dear  Friend, —  It  is  Friday  evening,  a  prriod 
of  time  ever  grateful  to  me  as  introducing  a  rest  of 
two  days  from  my  more  active  and  monotonous  em- 
ployments.    Although  the  post  will  not  favor  us  till 


-.i^^wti  ■■;.  i^.-^a^ 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


59 


-1 


Monday,  I  am  disposed  to  secure  the  first  moments 
thus  disburthened,  in  replying  to  the  letter  which 
greeted  me  last  evening.  That  it  was  not  unwelcome 
you  will  believe ;  more  — profitable,  I  trust  it  is  and 
will  be  to  me.  The  feeling  of  embarrassment  which 
will  often  trouble  me  in  addressing  you,  now  throws  a 
double  spell  over  my  pen.  I  am  reluctant  to  answer  it, 
because  I  know  I  cannot  do  so  with  those  corresponding 
religious  feelings  which  will  harmonize  with  your  own. 
"  As  I  read  it,  I  was  deeply  and  painfully  aware  of 
the  contrast  between  the  state  of  vour  mind,  and  the 
variable,  sometimes  almost  insensible  condition  of  my 
own  heart.  For  a  while,  overcome  by  a  true  sense  of 
the  unworthiness  of  my  whole  life,  I  well  nigh  cast 
away  my  confidence,  and  was  ready  to  forsake  my 
hope  of  the  interest  in  Christ  which  1  had  so  often 
thought  mine,  but  of  which  I  could  discover  so  little 
genuine  fruit.  I  will  not  give  you  anything  like  a 
description  of  the  depression  which  gathered  around 
me,  until  I  could  see  nothing  clearly,  either  of  resolu- 
tion or  encouraging  promise.  I  tried  to  seek  the 
throne  of  heaveniy  grace,  but  the  way  seemed  closed, 
and  I  could  not  urge  the  suit  I  had  commenced.  O,  it 
was  indeed  an  hour  of  darkness  most  oppressive, 
which  permitted  me  not  to  remember  the  repose  of 
night.  To-day,  I  have  less  despondency,  but  com- 
munion with  my  heart  still  teaches  me  a  painful  lesson. 
I  believe  the  promises  of  God,  all,  but  fail  to  apply 
them  to  myself.  Will  my  ever  kind  friend  excuse  me 
for  the  gloomy  picture  I  have  presented,  and  yet 


%. 


60 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


further,  if  I  should  express  some  of  the  emotions  of 
my  heart  —  which,  I  fear,  is  thought  far  better  than  it 
is  estimated  in  the  sight  of  heaven  ? 

"  The  relation  of  moments  of  your  experience,  for 
which  I  thank  you,  encourages  me  to  tell  you  the  feeble 
aspirations  of  my  own  desires,  not  for  holiness  of 
heart,  but  for  more  constant  devotion  to  God,  for 
more  abiding  peace  of  mind.  That  high  gift  of  re- 
deeming grace,  of  which  I  hope  you  noiv  have  the  full 
evidence,  I  have  never  thought  could  be  mine.  It  is 
a  provision  which  I  can  believe  and  rejoice  in  for 
others,  but  from  which  I  practically  imagine  myself 
alone  excluded.  I  can  from  my  inmost  heart  repeat 
the  words  of  the  hymn  commencing, 

'  I  want  a  principle  within.' 


Do  you  think  it  possible  to  possess  all  these  without 
believing  to  the  sanctification  of  the  spirit  ?  That  is  a 
place  so  near  the  throne  that  I  dare  not  think  of  at- 
tempting to  occupy  it.  Yet  for  this  I  must  not,  do 
not,  excuse  myself.  * 

"  During  a  few  weeks  past  my  mind  has  been  much 
more  than  heretofore  awake  to  the  necessity  of '  living 
with  heaven  continually  in  view.'  I  have  tried  to  be 
more  active  and  constant  in  the  discharge  of  Christian 
duty,  and  to  remember  the  great  importance  and  obli- 
gation of  '  personal  effort ; '  and,  in  connection  with 
these,  have  often  enjoyed,  as  I  think,  the  direct  witness 
of  the  spirit,  that  I  was  accepted  in  His  sight.     But 


\'^t 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


61 


motions  of 
tter  than  it 


ese  without 

That  is  a 

ihink  of  at- 

ust  not,  do 

been  much 
y  of  *  living 
tried  to  be 
)f  Christian 
;e  and  obli- 
lection  with 
rect  witness 
sight.     But 


often  I  have  not  been  sensible  of  this,  and  have  re- 
proved myself,  then,  with  the  words, 

•  For  what  are  outward  things  to  Thee, 
Unless  they  spring  from  love  ? ' 

It  is  this  I  need  continually.  I  know  I  do  desire, 
more  ardently  than  any  thing  beside,  to  possess  this, 
and  feel  ever  the  assurance  that  I  am  approved  of 
Him  who  seeth  in  secret. 

"  I  do  rejoice  for  you  in  the  priv  lege  which  you 
enjoyed  at  home,  of  the  society  of  those  who  *  pro- 
fessed this  great  blessing' —  together  with  all  the  sacred 
associations  of  that  concluding  evening  hour  —  an  hour 
to  be  remembered  in  heaven.  I  am  glad  to  learn  that 
the  influences  of  the  Spirit  have  been  so  diffused  in  the 
Province,  as  well  as  in  highly  favored  New-England. 
In  our  community,  at  the  present  time,  we  have  very 
little  religious  interest.  I  think  I  never  knew  so  little 
here.  What  responsibilities  rest  upon  those  who  lead 
the  minds  now  committed  to  their  care  !  I  feel  my 
weakness  and  imperfections  as  I  am  not  accustomed  to 
feel  them,  and  know  that  without  larger  supplies  of 
grace  I  must  be  almost  valueless  and  useless  in  our 
community.  You  have  sometimes  said  that  I  had 
remembrance  in  your  prayers ;  now  you  will  not  forget 
me.  I  desire  unchanging  love  to  God,  and  to  exem- 
plify it  in  all  my  conversation.  I  desire  a  clearer 
witness  of  His  love  to  me.  Mb"  I  solicit  for  these  an 
especial  recollection  ? 

"  I  must  not  omit  to  mention  a  circumstance  of  high 
pleasure  to  me.  I  had  the  gratification  of  listening  to 
6 


m 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


the  Rev.  R.  Newton  when  he  preached  in  Springfield. 
From  his  first  arrival  on  our  shores,  I  thought  it  would 
be  worth  a  little  pilgrimage  to  see  him.  I  had  heard 
he  was  to  preach  in  Middletown,  Hartford  and  Boston, 
and  thought  for  the  moment,  '  woe  is  me  that  I  sojourn 
in  '  Wilbraham.  When,  unexpectcdiy,  he  came  so  near 
as  Springfield,  the  power  of  jittraction  was  very  strong, 
and  a  large  number  of  our  company  hastened  to  hear 
him.  1  never  thought  of  obtaining  a  seat,  but,  when 
I  found  myself  within  heagng-distance,  was  perfectly 
satisfied.  He  chose  for  his  text  the  words,  *  Instant 
in  prayer.'  The  sermon  was  blessed  —  I  can  think  of 
no  more  descriptive  word  —  so  eloquent  in  purity,  sim- 
phcity  and  practical  instruction.  I  should  think  it 
possible  that  those  who  went  to  hear  an  orator  were 
some  disappointed,  but  tears  abundantly  testified  its 
eflfect  upon  the  heart.  My  own  was  perfectly  in  tune 
to  receive  the  most  pleasing,  and,  I  hope,  profitable 
impression.  How  delightful  to  see  the  first  order  of 
talents  consecrated  to,  and  elevated  by  the  service  of 
the  gospel :  to  be  able  to  forget,  while  listening,  that 
such  an  one  is  popular,  (in  the  ordinary  application  of 
the  word,)  by  his  humble,  spiritual  appeals  to  the  con- 
science. After  the  exercises  in  church,  I  had  the  honor 
of  dining  with  him  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Robb.  The 
interview  was  very  brief,  as  he  left  immediately  for 
Boston. 

"Again  wishing  for  you  every  aid  and  happiness  in 
your  many  duties,         I  remain, 

«  Yours  sincerely,        H.  M.  T." 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD.  H 

July  23d,  the  following  occurs  in  her  journal. 
"  What  expressions  shall  I  use  in  making  my  entry  of 
this  day's  termination.  O  for  a  thankful  heart !  I  am 
poor  in  nothing  but  thanks. 

'  How  do  Thy  mercies  close  me  round, 
For  ever  be  thy  name  adored.' 

Our  term  has  closed.  Its  opportunities  for  usefulness 
so  misimproved,  are  past.  But  O,  how  rich,  how  full 
and  unnumbered  are  its  mercies,  equivalent  only  to  my 
ill  desert.  Every  thing  has  passed  away  satisfactorily  ; 
more  I  have  received  than  I  could  have  asked,  of  grace, 
wisdom  and  favor  with  the  people.  It  is  all  of  God. 
O,  let  me  never  murmur  or  complain  again.  Thou 
hast  kept,  and  wilt  still  direct  all  my  interests,  and  all 
thv^  interests  of  my  dearest  friends. 

"  Our  Fair,  for  which  we  have  toiled,  is  past.  We 
have  exceeded  my  mos*  sanguine  expectations  —  to 
God  be  all  the  praise,  to  us  the  bliss.  The  sales  have 
amounted  to  more  than  seventy  dollars  —  and  this 
evening  we  again  meet  to  plan  what  shall  be  done. 
The  little  girl  in  Oregon  is  to  bear  the  name  of  H. 
M.  T." 


It  has  seldom  been  my  privilege  to  meet  with  an 
individual  who  had  so  inteljigent,  steadfast  and  con- 
soling a  reliance  on  the  guidance  of  the  Divine  hand, 
as  this  beloved  disciple  of  Jesus.  At  first,  it  was  a  con- 
fidence in  the  universal  operations  of  supreme  wisdom, 
goodness  and  power ;  but  in  her  later  experience  it 
acquired  the  character  of  a  delightful,  heart-felt  repose 


Jtii^iliK^i&u 


64 


MEMOIR    OF  MRS. 


in  love  and  power  divine  exerted  in  her  behalf — a 
Providence  that  watched  and  directed  her  steps,  a 
special  presence  that  accompanied  and  guarded  her. 
The  reader  will  be  pleased  to  see  these  remarks  illus- 
trated her<^  in  two  particulars,  which  most  essentially 
concerned  her  happiness.  One  of  them  is  of  so  tender 
and  sacred  a  character  that  it  would  not  be  minutely 
traced,  were  it  not  for  the  important  view  which  it 
gives  of  strong  religious  principle,  and  for  the  hope 
that  the  example  may  be  serviceable  to  many  a  youth 
with  similar  designs  and  prospects.  I  refer  now  to 
her  affiance  with  her  future  husband,  in  reference  to 
which  she  records  her  views  and  feelings  shortly  after 
a  visit  which  she  was  permitted  to  enjoy  in  addition  to 
the  usual  attractions  of  home  during  vacation.  The 
other  particular  is  her  connection  with  the  school,  re- 
specting which  she  writes  to  Mr.  Pickard : — 


"  I  suppose  I  shall  pass  the  Autumn  in  Wilbraham. 
I  have  endeavored  to  think  that  I  could  be,  at  least, 
as  useful  at  home  ;  that,  perhaps,  it  was  my  duty  to  be 
there ;  and  that,  consequently,  I  should  not  return 
here,  (Wilbraham;) — but  cannot  say  so,  because  f 
am  not  sure  that  this  would  be  according  to  ihe  order 
of  Providence.  Shall  you  think  me  almost  visionary 
upon  the  doctrine  of  Special  Providence,  by  my  fre- 
quent allusions  to  it  ?  I  am  happy  in  my  firm  reliance 
upon  its  watchfulness.  Notwithstanding  I  can  see 
little  good  which  I  am  doing  here,  or  which  may  result 
from  my  being  an  incumbent  of  this  responsible  station, 


'^'%i:?*^rf:vT^^%'t :  ■" 


ww;w.»V'i5r|f^r^.»f^-T«r--:v' ' 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


65 


I  would  not  leave  while  by  doing  so  I  should  transgress 
against  a  voice  undefinable  within." 

Of  her  visit  home,  she  thus  writes  in  her  journal : 

"  August  23d. —  Home  and  its  pleasant  scenes  have 
again  been  mine  —  that  home  so  dear,  the  dwelUng  of 
my  Father  and  my  Mother  !  The  cordial  welcome  of 
friends  has  every  where  greeted  me ;  the  too  partial 
eye  of  kindness  and  affection  has  overlooked  my  un- 
worthiness,  and  awarded  to  me  the  tribute  of  sympathy 
and  regard.  The  tenderest  hope  of  my  heart  has  been 
fulfilled  —  1  have  enjoyed  the  society  of  the  one  who 
is  much  beloved,  who  will,  probably,  in  the  future,  be 
my  dearest  earthly  friend  and  protector.  I  am  thank- 
ful that  I  am  permitted  to  trace  the  finger  of  Providence 
in  this  acquaintance ;  and  should  after  circumstances 
or  coming  changes  thwart  the  present  design,  I  think  I 
can  say  still,  '  Thy  will  be  done.'  Yes,  pleasing  as 
are  the  emotions  of  the  present,  and  bright  as  are  now 
to  me  the  hopes  of  the  future,  I  think  T  would  rather 
they  should  perish  from  my  way,  than  that  I  should  be 
compelled  to  feel  that  the  eye  of  Providence  no  longer 
regaids  it  with  favor. 

"  I  would  that  our  love  to  each  other  might  be 
sanctified  by  a  constant  and  unreserved  dedication  of 
ourselves  and  our  interest  to  the  service  of  Christ. 
Without  this  we  cannot  be  fitted  for  usefulness,  and 
for  a  becoming  discharge  of  the  duties  which  appear 
to  be  marked  out  for  us  in  life.  They  will  be  most 
difficult  and  arduous,  without  Divine  aid.  Yet  I  can 
rejoice  that  such  duties  have  been  revealed  to  my 
6* 


...fe'iiWL^  n-.'.'^J    i^*ii.(iul?i'.','li6t;M»iJii?fML'.Ll'u.iii.A'  .«.■. 


99  MEMOIR    OF   MUS. 

friend  as  the  way  in  which  he  must  serve  God.  I 
prefer,  above  every  temporal  good,  that  to  him  should 
this  grace  be  given  —  that  he  should  preach  the  un- 
searchable riches  of  Christ — the  unsearchable  riches 
of  Christ !  O  Thou  who  callest  to  holiness,  enable 
me  to  be  Thine,  to  serve  Thee  in  newness  of  life  each 
moment." 


.w,^>^k^^  rj^ii^e^i^i  i. 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


67 


ClliVrTER  V. 


Advancement  in  holiness.  Christian  Perfocticn,  reasonable  and 
Scriptural.  New  resolutions.  Sense  of  responsibility.  Increase 
of  light.  Evidence  of  acceptance.  Rejoicing  in  God.  Earnest 
desires.  Longing  for  God.  Her  relation  of  the  experience  of 
perfect  love.     Continued  consecration. 


In  August,  Miss  Thompson  was  a^'-.-.m  in  Wilbra- 
ham.  During  tliis  term,  attc  v*ive  as  usual  vo  her 
regular  duties,  she  yet  made  i  rea  ^r  advancement  in 
the  divine  life  than  ever  before,  and  exerted  herself 
more  widely  in  promoting  the  salvation  of  her  pupik. 
For  her  own  personal  safety,  and  for  suitable  Christian 
influence,  she  had  long  felt  the  necessity  and  importance 
of  a  greater  maturity  in  grace.  The  object  at  which 
she  should  aim,  had  been  attaining  distinctness ;  and 
she  began  to  realize  that  nothing  short  of  entire  sancti- 
fication  would  answer  the  claims  of  God,  and  fulfil 
her  responsibilities  :o  others.  As  we  have  seen,  she 
at  first  shrank  from  this  elevated  position,  but  as  she 
contemplated  it,  she  felt  its  attractions,  and  finally 
reckoned  herself  ''dead  indeed  unto  sin,  but  alive  unto 
God  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord." 

How  truly  desirable  and  appropriate  does  the  state 
of  "perfect  love"  appear  for  a  Christian.     It  is  the 


^ 


y" 


68 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


perfection  of  his  character.  There  is  in  the  human 
mind  a  disposition  to  doUght  in  whatever  is  perfect  of 
its  kind.  A  rose-bud  is  very  beautiful,  but  should  all 
roses  remain  only  buds  during  the  season  of  flowers, 
we  should  feel  that  there  was  a  deficiency  in  the  pow- 
ers of  nature,  and  they  would  become  painfully  disa- 
greepble.  A  well-formed  dwarf  is  an  object  of  admi- 
ration as  a  man  in  miniature;  still  we  feel  that  the 
contrast  between  him  and  an  able-bodied  man  of  the 
ordinary  size  is  very  unpleasant.  A  babe  is  lovely — 
a  beautiful  bud  of  promise  and  hope ;  an  active,  amia- 
ble child  is  an  object  of  deserved  interest ;  but  what 
if  all  human  beings  were  to  remain  only  babes  or 
children  henceforth  ?  We  should  mourn  for  the  future 
condition  of  the  race  and  of  the  earth,  and  sigh  for  the 
perfect  men  and  women  of  other  days. 

And  do  we  not  wish  to  see  perfection  in  moral  and 
religious  character?  Are  we  satisfied  with  our  owa 
continual  schooling  in  the  "  first  principles  of  the  ora- 
cles of  God,"  when  for  the  time  of  our  profession  we 
ought  to  be  teachers,  fathers,  and  mothers  in  Israel  ? 
Are  we  pleased  with  the  general  dwarfishness  of  Chris- 
tian character  in  the  church  ?  O  where  are  the  men  of 
God  who  have  arrived  at ''  the  measure  of  the  stature 
of  the  fulness  of  Christ?"  Does  the  church  now 
train  up  her  members  as  she  once  did, —  as  she  ought 
to  do?  The  apostles  were  continually  urging  their 
brethren  to  "  go  on  unto  perfection ; "  to  be  no  longer 
babes  and  children,  but  to  be  "  perfect  men,"  of  **  full 
age."  They  taught  them  not  only  to  be  thoroughly 
instructed  in  the  doctrine  of  Christ,  but  to  be  "  perfect 


1^. 


j'^r^i'"-^"-'*'  "  ' 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


69 


in  love,"  for  "love  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  law;"  "sin- 
cere and  without  offence  till  the  day  of  Christ,"  in 
moral  and  religious  character. 

I  know  that  to  the  pride  and  ignorance  of  the  human 
heart,  there  is  an  air  of  "ultraism,"  of  extravagance 
and  need'ess  rigor  in  this  requisition.  At  least,  the 
representations  which  some  Christians  feel  it  their  duty 
to  make,  of  the  obligation  and  privilege  of  believers,  is 
considered  by  formal  and  worldly  professors  as  the 
dream  of  the  visionary,  or  the  wildness  of  fanaticism. 
But  how  highly  honored  of  God  should  that  church 
consider  itself  to  be  which  is  made  the  depositary  of 
this  glorious  doctrine;  how  great  its  advantage  for 
usefulness,  how  great  its  responsibility ! 

Our  sister's  mind  was  trammelled  and  embarrassed 
with  the  prevalent  objections  and  excuses  that  prevent 
so  many,  even  of  the  Methodist  community,  from  em- 
bracing the  exalted  privilege  of  purity  of  heart.  It 
was  long  before  she  fully  resolved  to  seek  and  know 
for  herself  the  blessing  of  "perfect  love."  But  she 
did  so  resolve,  and  entered  into  this  rest.  And  we 
now  proceed  to  trace,  in  her  own  language,  the  way 
in  which  the  Lord  gently  drew  her  on,  till  she  was 
enabled  to  testify,  "  the  blood  of  Jesus  Christ  his  Son 
cleanseth  us  from  all  unrighteousness." 

The  Sabbath  morning  after  her  return  to  Wilbra- 
ham,  she  writes  in  her  diary  as  follows : 


.■v,,:V' 


"  I  feel  a  strange  backwardness  this  morning.  How 
is  it,  my  heart?  Am  I  not  ready  to  say  that  I  do 
desire,  more  than  any  thing  beside,  to  be  the  Lord's  — 


aWil^ 


70 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


to  be  approved  by  Him  who  discerneth  the  thoughts 
aiid  weigheth  the  motives  ?  My  spirit  certainly  answers 
promptly,  Yes.  But  why  am  I  so  cold  in  my  love  to 
God  ?  Why  am  I  not  now  happy  in  Him  ?  Friends 
and  home  and  future  hopes  can  command  n»y  thoughts. 
And  when  memory  or  imagination  presents  them  be- 
fore me,  all  slumbering  emotions  of  joy  are  aroused, 
and  the  anticipation  of  again  mingling  in  these  plea- 
sures fills  my  mind  with  delight.  O  why  are  the  re- 
presentations of  these  scenes  so  vivid,  and  why  do  f 
have  so  dim  conceptions  of  that  bright  world  of  holi- 
ness and  glory  which  may  be  my  home  for  ever  ?  Why 
so  feeble  aspirations  of  love  to  Him  whose  love  for  me 
changes  not,  but  now  is  as  tender  and  free  as  when 
He  remembered  my  polluted  soul  in  the  hour  of  atone- 
ment ?  It  is  because  those  pollutions  have  not  been 
fully  washed  away  by  faith  in  that  atonement,  that  this 
dark  shadow  of  the  fall  is  still  upon  my  nature.  O 
God,  renew  me  in  Thine  own  image. 

'  Seal  Thou  my  breast,  and  let  me  wear, 
That  pledge  of  love  for  ever  there.' 

I  do  purpose  in  Thy  strength  to  strive  to  '  live  with 
heaven  continually  in  view.'  I  purpose  with  Thine 
aid  to  neglect  no  means  to  secure  this  object.  Among 
the  number  shall  be  more  watchfulness  and  medita- 
tion.' I  have  often  thought  I  would  cherish  tho  spirit 
of  these  by  recording  my  thoughts,  but  I  i...ve  not 
been  systematic  in  this,  and  have  often  neglected  it 
altogether.  I  now  purpose  to  be  more  constant  in  this 
practice;  it  will,  I  doubt  not,  if  rightly  attended  to, 


J^ 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


71 


promote  my  spiritual  advancement,  and  be  otherwise 
advantageous  to  me." 

"Aug.  25,"  she  again  writes,  "I  hardly  know  how 
to  record  my  emotions  to-day.  I  will  try,  that  I  may 
be  able  more  effectually  to  analyze  them  to  myself. 

"  I  feel  that  it  is  my  duty  to  be  wholly  given  up  to 
God,  to  serve  Him  in  newness  of  life.  I  know  that 
unless  I  do  so,  I  cannot  be  useful  in  life,  or  in  death 
be  prepared  to  meet  Him.  But  O,  my  heart  is  so  un- 
stable, my  desires  so  fluctuating  —  at  one  time  ardently 
aiming  at  the  blessedness  thus  offered,  at  another 
coldly  following  the  convictions  of  duty.  I  would  be 
thankful  that  this  conviction  remains  upon  my  mind ; 
it  must  exert  an  influence ;  certainly  it  prevents  me 
from  slumbering  upon  the  subject.  O  God,  withdraw 
not  from  me  these  faint  enkindlings  of  the  Spirit,  but 
increase  them  until 

'  All  I  am  is  lost  in  Thee.' 

I  will  not  yield  to  the  sinful  inclinations  of  my  heart, 
which  so  readily  rise  up  to  check  the  operations  of  the 
Spirit.  No.  It  is  the  will  of  God,  even  my  sanctifica- 
tion.  I  must  believe  this ;  I  do  desire  it.  O  aid  Thou 
me  to  seek  it  with  all  my  heart,  for  in  that  dr?v  [  am 
assured  that  I  shall  find.  Help  me  to  renounce  the 
world ;  humbly  and  faithfully  to  bear  the  cross. 

"How  much  work  there  is  for  me  to  do —  I  faint  at 
the  prospect.  I  am  here  '  in  weakness  and  in  fear, 
and  in  much  trembling!'  God  has  placed  under  our 
influence  and  instruction  so  many  human  beings  — 
beings  who  have  commenced  an  existence  which  will 


n 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


never  terminate  —  susceptible  of  being  persuaded  to 
that  course  by  which  they  may  spend  their  eternity  in 
happiness,  or  if  not  so  influenced,  must  never  reach 
that  place  of  bliss.  O  God,  help  me  to  feel  thjs  re- 
sponsibility every  moment; — let  me  never  shrink  from 
word  or  act  which  Thou  shalt  reveal  as  duty;  and  O, 
let  me  never  so  grieve  thy  Spirit  that  I  cannot  perceive 
the  things  which  Thou  wouldst  have  me  do.  Lend, 
lend  me  thine  aid,  and,  all  insufficient  as  I  am,  I 
can  speak  some  word  for  Thee  which  shall  bring 
forth  fruit  to  thine  honor  and  glory. 

"  27. —  Several  days  past  have  been  dark  to  me.  I 
knew  I  must  and  did  prefer  the  service  of  God  above 
all  ear'.hly  good,  but  could  n->t  find  within  those  sen- 
sations of  delight  in  His  character  which  I  desired,  for 
it  was  too  holy  for  my  impure  soul  to  gaze  upon.  I 
can,  I  think,  trace  the  cause, —  I  was  unfaithful  at 
home.  Shall  I  ever  bear  the  cross  with  my  particular 
friends  ?  I  have  so  neglected  religious  conversation 
and  prayer  with  them,  that  I  wonder  God  has  con- 
tinued to  me  the  daily  blessings  with  which  I  have 
been  favored  ;  and  above  all,  that  He  has,  even  for  a 
moment,  manifested  any  tokens  of  love  to  my  soul. 
O  the  depths  of  His  goodness  in  our  unworthiness  ! 
the  fulness  of  His  mercy  amid  all  our  sins  ! 

None  but  God  such  love  can  show.' 

"  Yesterday  and  to-day,  I  have  felt  to  prefer  a  ter- 
mination of  temporal  and  spiritual  existence,  rather 
than  live  so  distant  from  my  Savior  in-  heart,  and  so 
unlike  Him  in  character  and  spirit.     To-night  I  came 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


73 


to  Him  in  prayer.  I  thought  I  could  no  longer  endure 
the  situation  in  which  I  was ;  I  must  seek  again  that 
mercy  so  unlimited,  which  yet,  it  hardly  seemed,  could 
be  reserved  for  me.  I  came  at  His  feet ; —  I  begged 
for  some  word  which  should  '  life  and  peace  afford  ;' 
and  the  kind  message  of  that  mercy  which  immedi- 
ately spoke  within  was,  '  I  will,  be  thou  clean.'  I 
hesitated,  and  grievod  that  it  was  from  myself  alone  — 
yet  still  it  breathed  in  my  heart.  It  was  not  withdrawn 
for  my  doubts.  As  a  light  suddenly  beaming  upon 
dark  waters  to  the  anxious  mariner,  who  fears  to  avert 
his  steady  eye  lest  he  shall  lose  its  friendly  rays,  but  there 
it  glows,  uninfluenced  by  his  fear,  so  was  that  word  to 
me.  O  how  shall  I  record  His  mercy  suitably.  O 
increase  Thou  within  my  soul  that  heavenly  light ;  let 
me  never,  never,  never  again  lose  sight  of  it ;  but  O, 
may  it  continue  to  brighten  unto  perfect  glory.  It  will, 
if  I  live  a  holy  life. 

"  It  must  be  holiness  of  heart  which  I  desire.  It 
must  be  the  sanctification  of  the  spirit  of  which  I  am 
convinced  I  stand  in  need.  Something  must  be  done 
to  remove  from  my  heart  all  remaining  traces  of  sin.  I 
dared  not  aim  so  high  as  this  ;  but  I  must,  I  can  ask  for 
this,  and  for  nothing  else  than  this.  Jesus  my  Mediator, 
my  Redeemer,  it  must  be  that  Thou  art  a  Redeemer 
from  all  sin.  It  must  be,  ns  Thou  hast  declared.  Thy 
will  even  my  sanctification.  Yes,  there  was  merit  suffi- 
cient in  Thy  death  to  purchase  even  this  for  me ;  and 
Thou  art  represented  to  us  as  a  continual  offering  for 
sin.  I  iiust  believe,  God  being  my  helper,  I  will  try 
to  believe,  even  to  t'e  attainment  of  this. 
7 


74 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


.^ 


"  28. —  My  mind  is  lost  for  words  suitably  to  express 
my  obligations  to  God,  and  to  redeeming  mere*',  this 
evening.  I  feel  a  brigh^t^r,  y^iH  I  have  njirm  evidence 
within  that  I  am  acccftfed  throug/i  the  beloved.  O  God, 
keep  my  heart  with  thi/  peace  which  j)fi,*:seth  all  under- 
standing.' Let  me  evor  vrulk  'a  Th-  'ight  of  Thy 
coumona'xe ;  ihen  '  labor  is  rest,  anu  pain  is  sweet/ 
I  just  ta'^tc  Thy  mercy,  out  O,  let  me  fulfil  Thy  com- 
inandmeiiis,  and  grow  in  the  knowledge  of  God  my 
Savior.  It  is  s .  y  duty  to  know  Thy  cha?acter,  to  study 
Tiiine  attributes,  to  trace  Thy  providences,  to  receive 
communicutioi' ;  of  Thy  grace,  and  tlms  to  attain  the 
measure  of  a  perfect  character  in  Christ  Jesus. 

"Ohow  precious  are  Thy  words;  they  are  sweet, 
more  to  be  desired  than  gold.  What  love  didst  Thou 
di.splay  to  the  world  in  condescending  for  us  to  leave 
on  record  those  prouiises  which  are  the  sure  refuge  of 
Thy  church  and  the  basis  of  their  hopes,  while  assured 
of  Thy  faithfulness.  O  let  the  word  be  written  on  my 
heart,  let  it  be  graven  on  the  walls  of  Zion,  let  it  be 
promulgated  through  the  world  — faithfulness  —  Thou 
art  '  faithful  and  just ! '  Thy  children  cannot  suffi- 
ciently praise  Thee  ;  the  spirits  of  the  just  made  perfect, 
and  all  the  angel  choirs  cannot  sufficiently  praise  Thee. 
O  keep  me  each  moment  by  Thy  grace,  until  I  come 
up  at  last  to  mingle  my  voice  with  theirs  in  that  bett-^r 
land  who  render  ascriptions  of  praise  '  to  Him  who 
hath  loved  us,  and  hath  washed  us  from  our  sins  in  his 
own  blood.'     Blessed  be  His  name ! 

"30.  —  Sabbath  Morning.  —  I  look  up  this  holy 
hour,  and  sigh  for  th  it  holiness  of  heart  of  which  th ', 


0  express 
src/,  this 

evidence 

OGod, 

ill  under- 

of  Thy 
is  sweet/ 
^hy  com- 

God  my 
,  to  study 
;o  receive 
It  tain  the 

IS. 

ire  sweet, 
dst  Thou 
i  to  leave 
refuge  of 
le  assured 
en  on  my 
,  let  it  be 
s  — Thou 
not  suffi- 
le  perfect, 
lise  Thee, 
til  I  come 
hat  better 
Him  who 
iins  in  his 

this  holy 
ivhicii  thv 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


76 


moments  speak,  that  I  may  be  prepared  for  that  rest 
of  which  this  day  is  the  emblem,  and  the  implied  as- 
surance. God  is  here.  In  Him  all  things  exist.  Be- 
neath, above  me  and  around,  all  are  instinct  with 
Thee.  I  feel  the  overshadowing  of  Thy  presence,  and 
my  heart  swells  with  sacred  joy.  How  delightful  to 
my  mind  the  knowledge  that  God  liveth  and  reigneth ; 
that  a  new  and  living  way  is  opened  by  which  we  may 
have  access  to  Him,  not  merely  through  the  natural 
operations  of  His  hand  in  the  universe,  but  through 
the  internal  manifestations  of  Himself  to  the  soul  that 
believeth — by  that  mysterious,  holy  communion  of 
heart  which  we  enjoy  when,  living  to  Him,  we  feel  the 
the  words  of  our  Savior,  *  because  I  live  ye  shall  live 
also.'  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  lives.  I  think  of  Him 
this  morning  as  interceding  for  me  —  O  the  depth  of 
the  riches  of  His  grace  —  for  me  who  have  a  thousand 
times  grieved  and  denied  Him,  a  thousand  times  re- 
sisted the  influences  of  His  Holy  Spirit,  and  rejected  its 
winning  consolations.  In  vain  my  thoughts  attempt 
to  explore  the  mystery  ;  my  Savior  lives  and  intercedes 
—  I  shall  live  also !  I  would  take  the  gift  of  life  thus 
obtained,  and  render  it  wholly  up  to  Thee.  It  is 
Thine,  forasmuch  as  I  have  not  been  redeemed  with 
corruptible  things  as  silver  and  gold  from  my  vain  con- 
versation, but  with  the  jyrecious  blood  of  Christ,  as  of 
a  Lamb  slain  without  spot  or  blemish.  In  days  of 
the  Levitical  Priesthood,  and  ceremonial  law,  the 
transgressor  humbly  brought  to  the  Lord's  altar  a  lamb 
without  blemish,  and  by  his  sprinkled  blood  the  sin 
was  forgiven.     How  much  more  shall  we  receive  the 


76* 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


gift  which  is  by  grace,  who  come  with  penitent  bold- 
ness to  the  throne  of  mercy  by  the  way  which  he  has 
consecrated  through  the  vail  of  His  flesh  !  The  prom- 
ises of  Him  who  '  is  faithful  and  just  to  forgive  our 
sins,'  guard  each  step  of  the  way  —  we  cannot  fail. 


In  a  corresponding  tone  of  earnest  spiritual  desires, 
she  wrote  to  Mr.  Pickard  —  "  Sept.  1. — The  small  com- 
pany who  meet  weekly  in  my  room  to  spend  the  hour 
of  twilight  in  prayer,  have  just  dispersed,  and  now  as 
its  last  rays  are  fading,  I  am  happy  to  remember  for 
you  that  it  is  Tuesday  evening.  I  am  truly  happy  to 
remember  what  is  probably  now  your  employment.  I 
would  that  I  could,  with  more  faith,  present  before  the 
throne  the  desire  I  feel  that  the  presence  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  may  rest  abundantly  upon  you  and  your  charge. 
I  will  specify  nothing  more  —  if  He  be  indeed  wi.U 
you,  every  circumstance  wii»  be  regarded,  every  want 
will  be  redressed.  But  O,  what  shall  I  do  with  my 
unbelieving  heart !  It  will  not  be  subject  to  '  the  law 
of  my  mind,'  so  that  I  cannot  do  the  things  that  I 
would.  Shall  I  ever  sec  the  time  when  it  shall  be 
subdued  fully  ?  is  a  question  I  ask  myself  with  much 
fear.  I  hardly  dare,  in  tnis  matter,  examine  myself 
whether  I  be  in  the  faith,  and  yet  it  is  a  thought  which 
banishes  every  other  from  me.  On  occasions  like  the 
present,  thougI»you  ask  my  remembrance,  you  can  de- 
rive little  benefit  from  my  small  supply  of  faith — but 
the  promise  is  to  you.  What  an  inestimable  sentence 
to  be  recorded  for  us  in  the  word  of  God,  is  that  pas- 
sage which  you  introduce  at  the   commencement  oX 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


77 


your  letter.  With  what  tenderness  do  such  addresses 
invite  our  confidence  to  repose  on  Christ.  To  me 
there  is  no  common  thought  contained  in  the  words  '  I 
will  give  you  rest.''  Let  me  thank  you  for  suggesting 
these  things  to  me.  I  will  try  to  remember  <  Who 
hath  said,  I  will  not  leave  you  comfortless.^  I  will  try 
to  rely  less  for  happin<3ss  upon  the  flattering  assur- 
ances which  the  world  so  often  intrudes  upon  my 
thoughts,  and  make  that  only  my  choice  in  which, 
amid  every  vicissitude,  I  may  feel  confident.  He  will 
not  leave  me  comfortless. 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  '  daily '  recollections,  and  now 
often  gratefully  think  I  may  ascribe  it  in  part  to  your 
petitions  in  my  behalf,  that  the  long  suffering  of  God 
is  still  manifested  to  me  by  the  impartation  of  increas- 
ing desires  to  serve  Him  in  all  newness  of  life,  yes, 
even  unblamably  in  holiness.  I  do  not  think  I  can 
be  otherwise  useful  or  satisfied.  Although  I  do  now 
feel  a  sense  of  pardon,  yet,  undeser .  ing  this,  I  am  not 
at  rest.  I  know  there  is  beyond  me  a  sea  of  ful- 
ness, which  the  eye  of  faith  has  not  j  •  ovealed  to 
me.  AVhen  I  can  have  a  constant  sense  oi  the  pres- 
ence of  God,  tender  and  confiding  love  to  Him,  I 
believe  I  shall  be  satisfied  —  I  shall  then  be  awaking  in 
His  likeness. ^^ 


■fj^ 


She  continued  the  same  devotional  and  pious  strain 
in  the  subsequent  records  of  her  journal,  evidently 
approaching  nearer  the  realizatu  \i  oi  her  enlarged 
desires.     Note  the  following  : 

7# 


78 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS. 


« 


"  Sept.  7.  —  This  has  been  a  week  of  various  emo- 
tions. I  have  tried  to  seek  the  highest  blessing  afforded 
in  this  Hfe — an  evidence  of  my  full  acceptance  with 
Covij  that  I  may  reckon  myself  'dead  indeed  unto 
An,  but  alive  unto  God  through  Josus  Christ  our  Lord.' 

I  can  see  all,  but  I  do  not  believe.  I  have  not  been 
accustomed  to  think  this  high  blessing  could  be  in  re- 
serve for  me.  Although  I  did  not  feel  myself  excluded 
from  "  '}  .  ;_  ^^ovenant  mercies,  yet  I  felt  that  to  be  a 
gift  bestowed  only  upon  the  eminently  pious — upon 
those  whom  God  was  preparing  for  important  services 
in  his  vineyard.  But  are  not  all  the  services  there 
important  ?  Is  it  possible  to  render  there  one  act 
acceptable  without  holiness  of  heart,  purity  of  mo- 
tive —  the  doing  of  it  with  a  single  eye  ?  It  is  true, 
my  heart  is  persuaded  of  this,  and  will  not  rest,  not 
only  until  I  am  dead  indeed  unto  sin,  but  till  I  am 
alive  unto  God.  O  may  it  be  so !  Holy  Spirit,  suffer 
me  not  to  rest.  With  the  ct  nviction  T  nov»  have  of 
its  importance,  to  slumber  upon  this  subject  •  nld  be 
to  resign  my  soul  to  the  sleep  of  spiritual  death  —  I 
know  it. 

"  10. —  I  would  record  my  grntitude  to  the  God  and 
Fatlier  of  my  spirit  —  the  God  of  all  mercies  and  c;om- 
fort,  tl  t  I  am  uot  yet  deserted  of  His  holy  influences. 
He  dot  s  not  yet  give  me  up  to  hardness  of  heart,  and 
to  blindness  of  mind.  No ;  but,  undeserving  and  vile 
as  I  have  been,  lie  still  calls  me  to  be  like  Himself. 
O  wondrous  grace  !  Whence  is  this  unto  me?  I  feel 
hoj  3  ai  .  joy  in  nothing  olse  but  the  thought  that 

I I  y  br  wholly  conformed  to  His  image.     And  this  I 


f 


f 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


79 


do  cor-iin  le  to  hofe,  because  He  increases  in  me  a 
hungering  and  thirsting  after  this.  Yes,  /  shall  see 
the  King  in  his  beauty.'  Hidden  in  Chri'-t  I  may  see 
Him  as  he  passes.  O  when  will  he  come  ?  When  shall 
I  be  pure  in  heart.  As  I  have  borne  the  image  of  the 
earthy,  when,  O  when  shall  I  bear  the  image  of  the 
heavenly  ?  O  for  more  active  faith  —  the  substance  of 
things  hoped  for,  the  evidence  of  things  not  seen. 
How  sweet  is  the  word  of  God !  *  Thy  word  is  truth.' 
New  light  seems  to  beam  from  its  holy  pages  to  en- 
lighten the  eyes  of  my  understanding.  O  may  its 
promises  be  realized  to  my  faith,  and  all  His  will  be 
fulfilled  regarding  me. 

•  O  save  a  trembling  sinner,  Lord, 
Whose  hope  still  hovering  round  thy  word, 
Would  light  on  sojtic  sweat  promise  there, 
Some  sure  support  against  despair.'  " 

The  glorious  hour,  at  length  arrived,  when  our  sister 
yielded  herself  fully  up  to  the  claims  of  God's  grace, 
and  realized  "  the  fulness  of  the  blessing  of  the  gospel 
of  Christ."  Her  relation  of  this  experience,  by  the 
evidence  of  its  truthfulness,  and  of  her  humility  and 
sincerity,  cannot  fail  of  being  beneficial  to  all  who 
shall  duly  appreciate  her  testimony.  It  may  be  well 
to  observe  that  while  her  mind  was  in  a  state  of  earnest 
desire  for  holiness  already  described,  she  enjoyed  the 
privilege  of  intending  a  Camp-Meeting  at  Ellington, 
Conn.  This  meeting  wiis  interesting  to  her,  and, 
probably,  contributed  a  sharf  of  preponderating  influ- 
ence to  the  happy  termination  of  her  prolonged  anxiety. 
The  little  prayer  meeeting  held  in  her  own  room  at  the 


80 


MEMOIR   C;     MBP. 


recommendation  of  one  of  her  dear  friends,  Mrs. 
Goodnovv,  was,  doubtless,  rendered  a  great  assistance 
and  motive  to  her  eager  pursuit  of  hoHness.  In  this 
meeting  she  finally  took  the  lead,  and  was  made  a  special 
blessing  to  many,  by  her  prayers  and  counsel.  We 
find,  by  her  relation,  however,  that  her  mind  was  pecu- 
liarly led  by  the  Holy  Spirit  in  her  search  after  full 
redemption,  and  that  she  had  taken  no  one  as  a  guide 
or  model,  but  followed  the  teachings  of  the  Spirit  in 
her  final  experience  of  the  great  salvation.  This  \°  the 
more  valuable  as  her  experience  exhibits  such  a  strict 
correspondence,  in  its  essential  features,  with  that  of 
all  who  have  enjoyed  the  same  blessing,  thus  confirm- 
ing the  belief  that  such  experience  is  the  work  of  God. 
This  account  is  found  in  several  different  forms,  which 
I  will  venture  to  condense  in  one,  so  as  to  give  a  con- 
nected detail  of  her  experience. 


(( 


Sept.  16. —  With  humble  confidence  I  would  make 
mention  of  new  hopes  and  joys  —  new  indeed  to  me  — 
the  darkness  is  past,  the  true  light  now  shineth.  All 
praise  be  given  to  God !  All  praise  be  given  to  God  !  I 
can  now  reckon  myself  dead  indeed  unto  sin,  but 
alive  unto  God.  Yes,  even  /  am  alive  unto  God, 
through  Jesus  Christ  my  Lord !  How  sweet  to  add 
His  name.  I  thank  thee,  O  Father,  for  this  way  of 
salvation ;  this  is  the  new  and  living  way. 


'  O  how  can  words  with  equal  warmth 
The  gratitude  declare, 
Which  glows  within  my  ravished  heart, 
But  Thou  canst  read  it  there.' 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


81 


(( 


My  earliest  religious  impressions  were  received  by 
the  bod-side  of  a  dying  brother,  (the  eldest  of  our 
family ;)  the  kiss  of  his  cold,  damp  lips,  accompanied 
by  a  charge  to  meet  him  in  heaven,  (only  an  hour  pre- 
vious to  his  death,)  sealed  the  interest  of  eternity  upon 
my  mind  with  characters  ineffaceable.  Years  after 
this,  when  my  heart  embraced  the  hope  of  the  gospel, 
I  was  still  a  child,  and  won  to  it  rather  by  the  love  of 
Christ  manifested  therein,  than  as  the  refuge  which 
it  offers  from  the  wrath  of  God.  This  characteristic 
of  my  emotions  at  that  time,  together  with  my  lack 
of  those  raptures  experienced  by  some,  has  often  led 
me  to  doubt  the  genuineness  of  the  admitted  change 
by  which  my  name  was  placed  upon  the  records  of 
our  church.  I  have  looked  upon  it  perhaps  as  natural 
religion ;  this  has  ever  been  my  most  assailable  point 
of  temptation.  Like  many  professed  followers  of 
Christ,  my  experience  has  been  very  fluctuating,  often 
half-hearted,  yet  favored  with  seasons  of  enjoyment 
wholly  undeserved  by  such  cold  affections. 

"  For  some  months  past  I  have  occasionally  felt 
the  need  of  some  influence  which  should  k 
from  so  frequent  backslidings  of  spirit,  Lat 
think  that  this  influence  must  be  none  othe^ 
consecration.  My  thoughts  have  often  T 
arrested  in  view  of  my  preparation  for  tht  »'  etiL  /.  . 
future  duties  of  life  while  so  vacillating.  I  could  but 
ask  myself  how  much  better  prepared  should  I  be  for  the 
employments  and  bliss  of  heaven,  were  I  to  live  on  so 
till  the  hour  of  death.  As  my  convictions  of  my  own 
frailty  increased,  I  felt  more  and  more  the  need  of  a 


1(5 


^U' 


.  ><  ir. 


-0!1 


.lO.' 


83 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


principle  within  to  keep  my  sliding  feet,  and  felt  it  must 
be  entire  consecration  alone.  Yet,  now  altogether 
con  irinced  of  this,  I  was  unwilling  to  be  sanciified.  It 
was,  to  my  inconsistent  heart,  at  first,  so  attended  by 
an  appearance  of  'ultraism,'  that  I  think  a  tangible 
oflfer  of  it  some  months  since  would  have  been  declined 
by  me !  This  the  merciful  influences  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  overcame.  As  the  Spirit  strove  with  me,  and 
my  repentings  were  so  often  kindled,  I  grieved  more 
and  more  that  I  so  grieved  the  Holy  Spirit  whereby  I 
might  be  sealed,  and  began  to  see  new  beauty  in 
this  blessed  doctrine.  It  no  longer  seemed  to  bear 
the  odium  of  fanaticism,  but  O,  it  became  to  me  the 
object  of  intense  desire — to  be  pure  in  heart  the  con- 
stant breatiiing  of  my  soul.  I  thought  not  of  the 
high  enjoyment,  but  to  be  accepted  of  '  Him  who 
seeth  in  secret,'  was  my  only  wish.  This  became  my 
prayer  by  day,  my  dream  by  night.  Day  after  day  it 
assumed  new  beauty  and  importance,  until  my  com- 
mon employments  seemed  intrusive ;  earthly  visions 
faded  away  before  it ;  earthly  friendships  were,  for  the 
time,  almost  forgotten,  for 

'  VVliilo  I  feoujrht  my  Maker's  grace, 

And  flcsli  and  spirit  failed  before  his  face, 

Their  teiiiptinir  presence  from  my  breaal  I  drove ;  — 

It  was  no  season  then  for  eartlily  love.' 

"  I  resolved  to  make  an  cflbrt  to  obtain  this  blessing. 
I  sought  the  throne  of  grace  in  constant  prayer.  On 
Saturday,  (Sept.  11,)  closing  my  door,  and  locking 
out  care  and  all  possibility  of  interruption,  I  resolved 
to  make  the  surrender  of  all  —  my  little  all !     I  im- 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


83 


■iM 


plored  the  aid  of  Him  who  is  a  discerner  of  the 
thoughts  and  intents  of  the  heart.  I  drnw  from  their 
lurking  places  my  faults  and  selfish  appetites  —  O 
what  a  multitude  of  guilty  outcasts !  I  paused  over 
them  one  by  one,  as"  my  nature  struggled  to  retain 
them,  and  would  let  none  escape  me  until  the  friendy, 
penetrating  light  of  Purity  enabled  me  to  see  clearly 
their  unworthiness.  I  examined  and  re-examined, 
examined  and  re-examined,  particularizing  every  cir- 
cumstance which  could  influence  me,  weighing  all. 
Matters  of  taste  most  annoyed  me,  and  came  up  in  a 
thousand  forms:  yet  these  little  things,  which  may  do 
so  great  mischief,  I  think  I  was  enabled  fully  to  over- 
come. I  am  sure  now  I  desire  none  of  them  as  I 
once  did.  The  list  thing  which  I  had  to  contend 
with  was  this — would  I  be  willing  to  return  again  to 
W.  if  such  should  seem  to  be  duty?  This,  indeed, 
brought  much  contention  of  will,  but  in  this  also  the 
will  of  God  shall  be  done  by  me.  I  looked  again, 
but  could  find  nothing  more  which  opposed  at  all; 
all  I  could  resign,  yes,  all  —  the  present,  the  future, 
all  for  Christ.  I  thought  I  might  reckon  myself  then 
dead  to  sin,  in  that  it  had  not  dominion  over  me ;  but 
I  could  not  believe  my  full  acceptance,  and  say, 
'alive  unto  God.'  I  could  not  feel  direct  access  to 
the  throne  of  mercy.  I  resolved  to  leave  there  my 
gift  before  the  altar,  and  wait  the  evidence  of  its  ac- 
ceptance. Several  days  passed  in  this  way  while  I 
maintained  my  spirit  of  consecration ;  I  felt  tiiis  to  be 
my  only  safeguard  against  my  former  coid-heartedness 
and  final  loss.     Still  I  hoped ;    the  thought  that  it 


84 


MEMOIR   OF  MRS. 


might  be  before  long  that  this  high  gift  would  be  mine, 
sustained  me.  Yesterday  (15th)  I  began  to  fear  lest 
a  promise  being  left  me  of  entering  into  that  reft,  I 
should  come  short  of  it  through  unbelief.  To-day  the 
way  has  been  much  clouded ;  I  feared  it  was  not  for 
me  —  that  /could  not  believe;  and  thought  that  God 
could  have  no  sympathy  with  such  culpable  timidity 
in  relying  upon  His  word ;  He  would  withdraw  His 
spirit  from  me,  and  leave  me  to  perish.  My  mind 
was  exceedingly  distressed,  when  sudden'y  the  tender 
sentiment  recorded  by  Isaiah  came  to  rnind,  '  Can  a 
womau  forget  her  sucking  child?  Yea,  (hey  may 
forget,  yet  will  I  not  forget  Thee.'  Again,  with  new 
confidence,  in  my  room,  alone,  I  sought  to  plead  the 
promises  of  God  which  recurred  to  me.  Again  I 
hoped,  again  I  sought  to  go  up  to  the  throne  to  bring- 
down the  blessing.  I  tried  and  tried  to  soar,  until  the 
wings  of  my  faith  wearied  and  drooped,  and  I  was 
glad  to  come  down,  and  rest  low  at  the  feet  of  Christ. 
I  then  found  the  word  verified,  it  '  is  nigh  thee,  in  thy 
mouth  and  in  thy  heart.'  My  mind  was  soon  taken 
away  for  a  moment  by  tiie  fullness  of  the  atonement. 
I  had  never  so  discovered  it  before.  I  saw  it  wrought 
out  by  God  himself^  then,  infinite  as  his  own  character, 
boundless  as  eternity,  it  must  prevail,  it  must  serve  for 
me  too.  My  whole  soul  adored  in  awe.  O  how  blessed, 
thought  I,  to  devote  my  life  —  a  thousand  lives  —  to 
Love  like  this !  My  fear  and  all  was  gone,  save  the 
delightful  thought  of  being  His  alone.  '  Quietness 
and  assurance '  filled  my  heart.  I  had  paused  in  my 
prayer,  and  could  but  ask,  what  is  this '     It  is  being 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


85 


'  aiive  unto  God.'  I  can  never  express  the  sweetness, 
the  joyous  haste,  with  which  I  added  the  words  which 
I  had  seldom  observed  before, — '  through  Jesus  Christ 
our  Lord ! '  I  repeated  them  again  and  again.  I 
had  been  anxious  for  an  indubitable,  startling  evidence 
of  acceptance.  It  came  not  in  power  or  rapture,  but 
like  the  message  to  Elijah.  I  heard  a  still  small  voice, 
and  believed  the  Lord  was  there,  and  when  I  heard  it, 
I  wrapped  myself  in  the  mantle  of  Christ's  atonement, 
and  listened." 

In  a  letter  to  her  sister,  Mrs.  Otheman,  from  which 
a  part  of  the  above  relation  is  taken,  she  continues  the 
account  of  herself,  as  follows: 


"  From  thai  time  I  have  not  doubted  that  my  nature 
is  pure  in  the  sight  of  God,  —  through  Jesu^  Christ, 
our  Lord.  I  think  so,  because  I  had  been  many  days 
in  deep  darkness,  but  since  that  have  known  none. 
I  think  so,  because  since  then,  though  more  severely 
tempted  than  ever  before,  I  have  received  unusually 
rich  blessings  ;  because  I  have  near  access  at  all  times 
to  the  throne  of  grace  ;  and  because  of  a  conviction 
upon  my  mind  which  forbids  me  for  a  moment  to 
doubt  that  God  has  done  this  for  me.  To  Tlim  I  owe 
the  confession  I  now  make  to  you.  Since  commen- 
cing this  relaticu,  something  has  repeatedly  suggested 
to  me  that  I  had  better  not  speak  of  it  until,  at  least, 
I  return  home.  But  of  this  suggestion  I  am  too  suspi- 
cious to  yield.  1  remember  my  past  fluctuations.  My 
heart  still  keeps  the  offering  first  made,  as  unreserved 
8 


86 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS. 


as  then.  For  this  I  am  thankful ;  it  is  enough.  If  ^ 
can  have  no  more  happiness  than  the  consciousness 
that  this  is  the  case,  1  am  satisfied.  My  only  hope  is 
in  the  broad  atonement. 

"  I  was  not  led  to  the  consideration  of  this  subject, 
and  to  desires  for  tiiis  blessing,  by  any  thing  which 
has  been  said  to  ;ne,  or  by  reading,  I  cannot  doubt 
it  to  be  only  the  work  of  the  Spirit  on  my  heart.  I 
came  not  to  my  present  feelings  by  following  the  light 
of  other  Christian  experience.  I  should  think  it,  per- 
haps, a  feebler  testimony  than  most  could  bring ;  but  I 
have  a  calm,  full  evidence  when  in  secret  prayer  which 
is  resistless.  Indeed,  what  would  be  the  correspond- 
ing testimony  of  all  saints,  without  this?  I  have 
told  you  ail  that  is  in  my  heart.  You  know  my  con- 
stitution, and  will  not  expect  me  to  come  to  you  per- 
fect in  every  respect,  nor  without  my  ready  smile. 
I  am  not  yet  able  to  speak  of  these  mental  exercises 
under  that  responsible  word  of  which  I  have  had  so 
exalted  and  fearful  ideas —  sanctification ;  but  I  should 
do  wrong  to  withhold  a  relation  of  my  experience 
thus  far.  And  now  I  count  not  myself  to  have  attain- 
ed, either  to  be  already  perfect ;  '  but  this  one  thing  I 
do,  forgetting  those  i'ungs  which  are  behind,  and 
reaching  fcrih  unlo  those  things  which  are  before,  I 
press  toward  the  mark  for  the  prize  of  the  high  calling 
of  God  in  Christ  Jesus.' 

"I  did  not  expect  to  exteiid  my  remarks  so  far  over 
the  sheet,  bui  I  wislied  to  be  definite  to  convince  you 
of  my  sincerity,  and,  if  possible,  to  give  you  the  evi- 
dence which  I  myself  have  that  I  have  not  undertaken 
this  in  my  own  strength." 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


81 


CHAPTER  VI, 


Effects  of  her  recent  experience.  Holiness,  the  glory  of  the 
Church.  Religious  influence.  Interesting  illustration.  Grace 
produces  humility.  Severe  temptations.  Sensitive  conscience. 
Siuprcne  love  to  God  hallowing  oilier  affections.  Contempla- 
tion of  Heaven.     Shrinking  at  the  Cross.     Close  of  the  Term. 

The  blessing  which  our  sister  had  now  obtained, 
was  but  the  preparation  for  further  advancement  in 
hoUness,  for  more  decided  and  extensive  usefuhiess, 
and  for  trials  which  awaited  her,  to  which  she  would 
have  been  totally  unequal  without  this  "  abundant 
grace." 

Her  attachment  to  the  church  of  her  choice,  which 
maintains  this  distinguished  doctrine  of  grace,  and 
which  employs  means  so  admirably  adapted  to  promote 
a  growth  in  holiness,  was  greatly  increased  by  her 
present  spiritual  attainments. 

It  is  generally  the  case,  that  as  the  members  of  our 
church  increase  in  spiritual  artections,  they  become 
stronger  in  their  love  and  devotion  to  her  doctrines  and 
usages.  On  the  other  hand  a  declension  in  religion  is 
generally  preceded  or  followed  by  an  indifference  to 
these  modes  of  thought  and  action.  It  requires  a  high 
state  of  religious  principle  and  zeal  to  carry  forvv.rd 
the  operations   of  genuine    Methodism.      And    then, 


i 


88 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


again,  we  have  undoubted  evidence  for  the  belief  that 
the  sentiments  and  practices  of  our  church  have  been 
the  means  of  proniDting,  in  a  remarkably  high  degree, 
the  Christian  experience  and  enjoyment  both  of  the 
ministry  and  membership.  We  rejoice  that  it  is  so. 
We  can  only  wish  that  Methodists  might  be  true  to 
their  principles  and  their  modes  of  operation,  and  they 
would  yet  be  the  honored  and  successful  instruments 
of  rapidly  "speading  scriptural  holiness  over  these 
lands."  This  is  our  mission.  When  we  cease  to  aim 
at  this,  and  this  only,  our  candlestick  will  be  removed, 
our  glory  will  have  departed,  and  we  shall  but  have  as 
our  portion  to  sit  down  in  mourning  over  the  desola- 
tions of  our  altars.  Is  it  not  the  anxious  cry  of  every 
one  among  us  —  ''O  Lord,  revive  Thy  work?"  We 
are  passing  through  fiery  trials :  if  they  but  purple 
away  our  sins,  and  purify  our  souls,  we  shall  have 
nothing  to  fear.  Nothing  but  ''  Holiness  to  the  Lord  " 
will  enable  the  church  to  maintain  her  honor  and  her 
influence. 

From  the  time  of  her  entire  consecratiori,  Miss 
Thompson  was  more  earliest  and  successful  in  efforts 
for  the  spiritual  welfare  of  -^r  pupil's.  She  had  fre- 
quently sought  seasons  of  personal  conversation  and 
prayer  with  them.  This  practice  she  continued  ;  and 
for  the  purpose,  visited  their  rooms,  and  sent  for  them 
to  visit  hers.  Many  will,  it  is  hoped,  have  cause  to 
bless  God  in  eternity  for  her  faithlui  and  affectionate 
labors  for  their  salvation.  The  Bible  class,  which  met 
at  her  room,  after  tea  on  Sunday,  and  which  now  con- 


4i1?» 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


89 


* 


sisted  of  thirty  young  ladies,  was  an  important  and 
fruitful  field  of  usefulness. 

But  her  influence  was  not  confined  to  such  system- 
atic and  direct  efforts.  She  breathed  the  spirit  of  Christ 
in  her  daily  intercourse  with  her  scholars,  and  would 
frequently  give  them  a  word  of  religious  advice  or 
inviiation,  when  attending  to  their  exercises  in  school- 
hours.  Of  this  latter  kind  of  effort  the  following  is 
an  interesting  illustration,  furnished  for  these  pages  by 
the  young  lady  herself,  who  was  its  happy  subject. 
The  precise  period  when  the  circumstances  occurred  is 
not  stated,  but  the  person  referred  to  writes  as  follows : 

"  Early  in  Sept.,  1840,  while  a  member  of  Miss 
Thompson's  class,  she  came  and  sat  down  by  me  at 
the  drawing  table,  and  in  her  peculiarly  attractive  way, 
said  she  wished  to  talk  with  me  about  religion.  Sev- 
eral times  the  previous  term,  she  had,  in  her  friendly 
intercourse,  invited  my  attention  to  the  subject,  but  not 
with  such  anxiety  and  earnestness  as  now.  Said  she, 
after  some  moments  conversation, '  When  I  have  spoken 
to  you  of  serious  things,  you  have  been  disposed  to 
listen,  and  not  turn  lightly  away ;  but  have  you  ever 
let  the  subject  rest  with  the  weight  on  your  mind, 
which  its  importance  demands  ?  You  think  you  have 
not  deep  conviction  enough,  yet  you  think  you  ought 
to  be,  hut  are  not  a  Christian.  Perhaps  it  is  all  the 
convicvion  you  will  ever  have,  and  if  you  do  not  im- 
prove upon  this,  you  may  have  no  more  of  the  Spirit's 
influence.'  And  she  affectionately  urged  me,  if  I  had 
8 


iPB^V 


90 


MEMOIR    OF   MRS. 


any  serious  feelings,  to  let  them  have  room,  and  to  give 
calm  and  undivided  attention  to  the  things  which  I 
knew  to  be  of  so  much  importance.  She  concluded 
by  relating  to  me  the  anecdote  of  the  old  soldier  at 
Gibraltar :  * 

" '  One  evening,  as  the  sentinel  was  pacing  his  usual 
rounds,  and  calling  out  at  intervals,  "All's  well,"  he  was 
much  surprised  to  hear  the  call  answered  in  a  solemn 
voice  by  the  words,  "  The  precious  blood  of  Christ." 
He  was  not  superstitious,  and  upon  repeating  the  call, 
and  hearing  the  same  reply,  he  resolved  on  finding  out 
the  cause.  On  searching  in  the  direction  of  the  voice, 
he  found  an  old  soldier,  who  said  he  could  not  sleep  ; 
and  when  he  heard  the  cheerful  call,  the  thought  came 
forcibly  to  his  mind  that  it  was  through  the  sacrifice  of 
Christ  that  "  all  was  well,"  and  he  could  not  help  ex- 
claiming, "  The  precious  blood  of  Christ."  It  resulted 
in  the  soldier's  conversion.' 

"  The  thought  that  it  was  to  the  Cross  that  the  world 
owed  every  temporal  blessing,  as  well  as  the  Christian 
his  hope  of  eternal  life,  so  fixed  itself  in  my  mind, 
that,  followed  by  the  Spirit's  influences,  and  the  con- 
versation and  prayers  of  that  ever  dear  teacher,  it  led 
me,  in  a  few  days,  to  hope  for  acceptance  through  that 
'  precious  blood.' " 


The  pious  reader  will  be  pleased  to  trace  her  reli- 
gious experience  in  more  of  those  private  records  so 
rich  in  sentiment  and  in  language,  which  have  already 
contributed  much  to  the  interest  of  these  pages.  In 
the  following  we  may  notice  the  proper  influence  of 


^l* 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


91 


large  supplies  of  grace  to  produce  true  humility  ;  ex- 
alted in  the  Divine  esteem,  she  wtis  abased  in  her  own. 


"Sept.  18. —  I  still  find  it  sweet  to  adore  the  good- 
ness of  God  ;  to  exclaim,  '  how  great  is  Thy  goodness 
which  Thou  hast  prepared  for  them  that  love  Thee  ! ' 
O  what  a  privilege,  to  take  the  place  which  best  be- 
comes me,  the  lowest  at  the  foot  of  the  cross.  While 
from  past  and  present  unworthiness  I  could  not  look 
up  to  the  Throne,  yet  this,  all  this  I  may  forget — I 
may  look  up  to  Christ  and  live !  God  has  done  great 
things  for  me,  He  is  doing  great  things ;  and  I  find 
within  my  hec.rt  the  strong  expectation  that  He  will 
permit  me  hereafter  to  enjoy  such  blessings  as  '  Eye 
hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  neither  hath  entered  into 
the  heart  of  man.'  Again  I  give  myself  away.  O  to 
sink  lo\yer  in  humility,  to  become  more  and  more  like 
Christ.  It  is  not  a  desire  for  bliss,  it  is  not  a  desire 
for  the  joys  of  heavenly  society  alone  which  now  fills 
my  mind ;  it  is  simply,  only  to  be  pure  in  heart,  to  be 
like  Christ! 

"  Undoubtir;;  confidence  in  God  in  the  midst  of  severe 
temptations,  is  u*>3  only  shield  and  refuge  of  a  soul  in 
its  endeavors  to  live  entirely  consecrated.  This  is 
illustrated  in  the  succeeding  extracts,  as  well  as  the 
fact  that  fulnesh  of  joy  is  not  always  realized  even 
with  the  evidence  of  full  acceptance. 

"Sept.  25. —  The  past  week  has  been  ytrewn  thick 
with  mercies  ;  bhssingsj  more  full  than  any  I  .have  be- 
fore realized,  have  been  imparted  to  me  at  times.  But 
O,  what  temptations  have  beset  me,  and  into  which  I 


92 


MEMOIR  OF   MRS. 


iiave  well  nigh  fallen  for  moments ;  yet  out  of  them 
all  the  Lord  hath  brought  W9.  The  most  bitter  and 
most  successful  has  been  th;  -aggestion  that  I  am  not 
wholly  given  up  to  God  as  I  have  believed.  At  times 
my  confidence  has  been  much  shaken.  My  former 
ideas  of  the  sanctified  state  return  to  mind  ;  and  be- 
cause I  have  not  all  the  rapture  which  I  supposed  to 
be  the  invariable  attendant  upon  consecrated  endeav- 
ors, I  have  yielded  to  fears.  It  is  not  so  much  rapture 
that  I  desired  for  itself,  but  as  a  seal  of  my  acceptance. 
This  I  will  leave  with  the  Lord  henceforth.  It  is 
enough  that  He  delivers  me  out  of  temptation  at  the 
throne  of  grace.  He  never  turns  me  from  there  empty 
away.  Blessed  be  His  name  !  However  Satan  may 
darken  my  hopes,  and  throw  a  mist  over  my  confidence, 
at  the  mercy  seat  I  can  always 


'  read  my  title  clear, 
To  mansions  in  the  skies.' 


A  voice  tenderly  assures  me  of  my  adoption  into  the 
family  of  Christ.  Is  not  this  enough,  O  my  soul  ?  I 
will  no  longer  doubt.  I  will  no  longer  doubt.  This 
refuge  is  mine !  '  The  new  and  living  way '  is  always 
open,  always  guarded.  No  lion  is  there,  no  ravenous 
beast  goes  up  thereon,  they  shall  not  be  found  there, 
but  the  redeemed  shall  walk  there. 


'  Hither,  when  hell  assails  I  flee  ; 
I  look  into  my  Savior's  breast ; 
Away,  sad  doubt,  and  anxious  fear, 
Mercy  is  all  that's  written  there.' 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


93 


"  29. —  Mercy  again  whispers  to  my  heart.  Hours 
of  dark  temptation  have  almost  concealed  from  my 
view  the  light  of  evidence  which  gleamed  upon  my 
way,  betokening  my  full  consecration  ;  but  it  is  again 
there.  May  God  help  mc  to  guard  the  precious  treas- 
ure. I  must  be  obedient  and  walk  by  faith.  By  the 
unlimited  attributes  of  God,  by  the  faithfulness  of  his 
promises,  h  th  -^(^m  oJ'the  atonement,  I  will  reckon 
myself  dead  uni  and  trust  momentarily  in  the 

mercy  of  Ch  'jp   ne  alive  unto  God." 

The  peculiar  .,  jveness  of'  conscience  which  a 
high  state  of  grace  produces,  is  evidence  of  the  genu- 
ineness of  the  work  of  the  Spirit  on  the  heart,  and 
tends  tQ  guard  the  sanctity  of  Christian  character,  the 
glory  of  God,  and  the  best  good  of  society.  Though 
there  is  no  condition  of  mind,  this  side  heaven,  in 
which  an  accountable  being  is  not  liable  to  sin,  yet 
there  is  one  in  which  the  least  known  deviation  from 
strict  rectitude  produces  intense  pain,  and  uneasiness, 
and  an  immediate  effort  at  reconciliation.  Such  a  state 
is  found  in  entire  consecration,  when  the  tvhole  bent  of 
the  mind  is  to  do  the  will  of  God.  The  occurrence  of 
an  actual  moral  fault  is  not  inconsistent  with  the  fact 
that  the  person  may  be,  immediately  before,  in  a  state 
of  full  acceptance  with  God,  and  may,  immediately 
after,  recover,  through  the  atonement.  His  forfeited 
favor.  But  it  will  always  be  found  that  the  fault  in 
such  a  case,  is  the  hasty  result  of  strong  temptation, 
and  is,  in  itself  small,  as  compared  with  other  sins ;  — 
though  what  might  seem  a  trifle  to  another,  would,  to 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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1.25  II  1.4   1  1.6 

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Hiotographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


33  WIST  MAIN  STRUT 

WHSTER.N.Y.  MSSO 

(716)  •72-4503 


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> 


<«> 


fi  MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 

the  sanctified  heart  appear  exceedingly  aggravated.  It 
is  only  when  a  person  has  lived  for  some  time  in  the 
loss  of  the  evidence  of  entire  consecration,  that  he 
falls  into  groat  offences,  and  becomes  weak  as  other 
men.  If  these  views  are  correct,  we  may  more  fully 
appreciate  the  nature  of  the  following  record,  which 
we  would  not  withhold,  as  it  shows  most  convincingly 
the  sincerity  of  our  sister's  profession  and  experience. 

"  Oct.  16. —  How  full  of  mercy  is  our  Savior !  How 
'faithful  and  just'  is  our  Heavenly  Father  to  forgive 
us  all  unrighteousness  for  Jesus'  sake !  Yesterday,  I 
fell  into  tempation,  and,  I  fear,,  by  a  moment's  expres- 
sion of  wrong  feeling,  wounded  the  blessed  cause  of 
Christ.  O,  I  grieve  bitterly,  deeply  for  this.-  Why 
did  I  not  watch  more,  when  the  tempter  is  always  so 
near? 

'  Thee  may  I  always  nearer  feel,' 

O  my  refuge  and  strength.  Perhaps  by  that  unguarded 
moment  God  is  now  teaching  me  that  I  cannot  stand 
alone.     No,  every  moment  I  must  live  in  Thee. 

♦  Every  moment,  Lord,  1  need 
The  merit  of  Thy  death.' 

How  sweet  to  rest  upon  these  merits.  Here  is  safety, 
here  is  strength,  here  is  righteousness  too,  and  all  for 
the  tempted,  the  weak,  the  polluted!  God  can  make 
even  the  wrath  of  man  to  praise  Him,  and  the  remain- 
der he  will  restrain.  Glory  be  to  Him,  He  does  not 
take  from  me  the  inward  witness  of  His  favor.     I  can 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


95 


now  give  up  my  anxiety  concerning  this.  I  have 
sought,  and  did  at  once  receive  pardon  at  His  hand. 
I  have  sought  it  '  c|irefully '  from  those  whom  I  of- 
fended. O  that  it  may  not  injure  His  blessed  cause. 
I  can  hide  nothing  from  the  eye  of  Omniscience.  No, 
I  rejoice  that  he  reads  my  heart.  I  give  all  to  Him, 
'  wiy  little  all ! '  '  Freedom,  health,  and  friends,  and 
fame.'  I  have  heard  His  tender  voice  saying  to  me 
to-night  '  Lovest  thou  me  more  than  these  ? '  With 
tears  my  heart  replied,  *  Thou  knowest  all  things, 
Thou  knou^est  that  I  love  Thee.'  " 

It  was  now  a  time  of  revival  in  the  Academy.  Sev- 
eral of  the  students  were  made  partakers  of  salvation, 
tn  tliis  work  she  took  great  delight,  and  was  instru- 
mental in  aiding  some  to  find  the  Savior.  She  re- 
cords an  instance  as  follows: 


>i 


m 


"Oct.  18. —  God  still  blesses  me,  and  condescends 
to  use  so  poor  an  instrument  as  myself  to  His  great 
glory !  I  am  humbled  in  the  dust.  O  let  me  bear 
Thy  full  image,  that  I  may  glorify  Thee,  through 
Jesus  Christ  our  Lord !  I  feel  like  being  all  devotion 
to  God,  all  humility.  O  to  be  divested  of  every  thing 
pertaining  to  self.  I  want  to  be  a  whole,  continual 
sacrifice  to  God,  to  live  a  life  hidden  with  Christ  in 
God.  I  now  try  to  give  up  all  anew,  and  rest  in  the 
death,  the  precious  blood  of  Christ.  This  evening 
one  of  our  company,  in  whom  I  have  felt  much  interest, 
has  been  delivered  from  the  power  of  sin,  and  enabled 


^' 


96 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


to  believe  in  Christ.  After  returning  from  the  altar  in 
church,  I  went  to  her  room,  and  we  spent  an  hour  in 
prayer.  We  give  all  the  glory  tp  God !  May  she  be 
kept  by  his  abounding  grace  until  we  meet  before  the 
throne  in  heaven."  • 


The  following  consistent  and  happy  views  of  the 
holiness  and  joys  of  heaven,  suggested  by  the  con- 
templation of  the  death  of  an  acquaintance,  will  be 
read  with  pious  interest.  And  it  will  be  remarked  that 
the  thought  most  transporting  to  her  mind  is  that  no 
sin,  nor  danger  of  sin,  can  invade  the  purity  and  bliss 
of  that  glorious  state. 

"Oct.  18. —  To-day  we  have  consigned  to  the 'un- 
disturbed silence  of  the  grave  a  meek,  lingering  victim 
of  consumption.  Her  conflict  with  temptations  is 
past ;  her  fear  of  grieving  a  Savior's  love  is  exchanged 
for  rest  in  His  bright,  glorious  presence ;  her  weary 
days  and  restless  nights  are  numbered.  Where  suns 
go  not  down,  and  the  light  of  eternal,  blissful  day 
knows  no  coming  shadows,  there  sh  blessed !  and 
more  than  this ;  she  drinks  from  the  lo  lat  of  holiness, 
she  breathes  the  air  of  holiness,  and  will  be  for  ever 
assimilated  to  that  Being  whose  holiness  makes  the 
glory  of  heaven  —  the  hope  of  the  redeemed.  For 
ever  there !  For  ever  there  !  Here  her  spirit  sighed 
for  full  salvation,  and  thirsted  to  quaff  from  this  pure 
stream.  She  lingered,  and  feared,  and  faltered,  like 
me,  through  unbelief,  but  such  hours  cannot  return  to 


Jt 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


9"? 


her.  O  could  one  glance  of  that  exceeding  glory  and 
fullness,  which  is  now  opening,  still  opening  to  her 
undimmed  vision,  be  vouchsafed  to  us,  how  would  the 
weary  soul  take  courage,  and  spread  its  wings  for 
higher  flights.  But  now  take  courage,  O  my  soul ! 
Through  Jesus  Christ  onr  Lord  I  can  say,  I  shall  see 
him,  though  not  now ;  I  shall  behold  him,  if  not  nigh. 
Spiritual  warfare  appears  to  be  before  thee  —  fears 
to  dishearten,  snares  to  beguile,  unbelief  to  deter,  and 
life  with  a  thousand  varied  trials  to  cast  its  darkness 
o'er  thy  way.  But  faint  not;  a  few  hours  and  all 
these  may  have  vanished  away,  and,  O  my  soul,  thou 
mayest  be  in  heaven !  No  fears,  no  snares,  no  unbe- 
lief can  hinder  there  the  progress  of  the  soul ;  no 
shadow  from  the  life  that  now  is  falls  upon  that 
which  is  to  come.  Faint  not ;  for  should  a  long  and 
dreary  way  be  thine,  and  not  one  ray  of  joyful  com- 
fort beam  upon  thee — trust  in  Christ.  I  heard  a 
voice  from  heaven,  saying,  "  To  him  that  overcometh 
will  I  give  to  eat  of  the  tree  of  life,  which  is  in  the 
midst  of  the  Paradise  of  God." 


How  ready  we  are  to  be  excused  from  a  duty  which 
our  groundless  fear  magnifies  into  a  cross,  heavier,  as 
it  seems  to  us,  than  even  the  grace  of  God  can  enable 
us  to  bear.  And  in  our  folly  we  prefer  some  easier 
way,  when  infinite  wisdom  and  love  are  pointing  out 
the  path  to  exalted  and  purest  happiness.  May  we 
wisely  decide,  with  our  sister,  to  let  God  choose  for  us, 
knowing  that  He  will  call  us  to  no  work  which  He 
will  not  qualify  us  to  perform. 
9 


98 


MEMOIR   OF  MRd< 


^  "  Kov.  7. —  Through  the  most  merciful  influences  of 
the  Holy  Spirit,  I  still  feel  to  keep  all  upon  the  altar. 
I  have  not  those  rapturous  enjoyments  of  which  many 
speak,  but  I  feel  that  dear  as  are  the  friends  and  hopes 
and  enjoyments  of  life  to  me,  the  Savior  is  infinitely' 
more  dear.  O  I  do  desire  to  be  like  Him  wholly,  to 
grow  in  His  knowledge  and  favor.  He  will  keep  me 
in  the  hour  of  temptation,  which  I  now  perceive  before 
me.  The  grace  of  God,  how  richly  abundant  for  every 
demand  which  we  may  make !  I  feel  that  I  have  lost 
strength,  and  thrown  obscurity  upon  my  evidence,  by 
neglecting  to  perform  a  requisition.  I  thought  it  could 
not  be  that  I,  in  my  weakness,  should  really  he  called 
to  bear  a  cross  so  heavy  as  the  one  which  was  repeat- 
edly presented.  I  was  ready  to  say,  Any  thing  but  this, 
Lord.  But  '  any  thing '  else  would  not  do.  God  is 
the  best  judge  in  these  things.  I  am  resolved  that 
should  the  opportunity  again  occur,  I  will  go  forward 
in  the  strength  afforded.     God  shall  choose." 

With  several  extracts,  partly  epistolary  and  partly 
from  her  journal,  we  shall  be  brought  to  the  close  of 
this  chapter,  and  shall  witness  the  close  of  another 
Academic  Term,  and  her  return  to  the  anticipated  joys 
of  home. 


"  I  am  happy  in  the  anticipation  of  so  speedy  a  re- 
turn home ;  its  enjoyments  brighten  before  me  as  I 
approach  them.  <  Duty,'  I  believe,  will  permit  me  to 
spend  the  winter  in  Boston.  In  this  I  have  more  grat- 
ification, as  my  mother  writes  that  she  misses  me  so 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


99 


much  as  to  be  waiting  anxiously  for  the  time  of  my 
coming.  I  cannot  realize  that  I  am  so  soon  to  leave 
these  cares  for  home.  The  words  rejoice  me.  Yet  as 
I  repeat  them,  they  introduce  another  thought  not  less 
welcome,  that  not  alone  by  the  fireside  where  we  seat 
ourselves,  and  gather  round  us  the  endearments  of  life> 
may  we  call  ourselves  <  at  home.' 


then, 


*  Soon  will  the  toilsome  strife  be  o'er 
Of  sublunary  care,' — 

«  We  shall  lay  our  armor  by, 
And  be  with  Christ  at  home." 


Can  it  be  that  we  are  indeed  born  to  such  a  destiny  ? 
*  Conformed  to  Him,  on  Him  to  gaze,'  'without  a 
dimming  veil  between  ! ' 

''  I  am  still  enabled  to  maintain  confidence  in  my 
Savior,  and  to  detract  nought  from  the  consecration 
which  I  so  deliberately  made,  and  which,  I  trust,  He 
so  gracir  jsly  accepted.  I  must  still  exclaim.  Whence 
is  this  unto  me  ?  and  fall  in  grateful  adoration  at  His 
feet  Through  temptations  which,  at  times,  almost 
cCinpel  me  to  doubt  what  God  has  done  for  me,  through 
days  in  which  the  dull  spirit  is  insensible  of  divine  in- 
fluences, I  continue  to  base  my  claim  to  the  all-preva- 
lent merit  of  Christ,  upon  the  words,  '  Ye  are  not  your 
own,  ye  are  bought  with  a  price,  even  with  the  precious 
blood  of  Christ.'  While  trying  to  keep  His  command- 
ments, '  the  darkness  and  the  light  are  both  alike  to 
Him.'  In  the  dark  shades  of  night  He  brings  to 
perfection  the  delicately  tinted  flower;  in  the  deep 


100 


MEMOIR   OP  MRS. 


recesses  of  the  mine  He  needs  not  the  light  of  admit- 
ted beams  to  refine  the  bright  hidden  treasure  —  but 
when  the  sure  sun  again  rises  we  may  enjoy  the  beauty 
of  the  flower  —  when  the  hour  of  necessity  arrives,  He 
will  reveal  for  us  the  depth  of  those  riches  which  He 
has  prepared  in  the  willing  and  obedient  heart. 

"  We  have  just  held  the  last  prayer  meeting  of  the 
Term.  These  little  seasons  of  prayer  and  religious 
testimony  have  been  rendered  profitable  to  me ;  but 
they  are  now  added  to  the  number  of  privileges  and 
blessings  which  cannot  be  recalled.  Though  I  may 
not  go  back  to  them,  doubtless  they  will  return  to  me 
in  memory  in  the  future  ages  of  eternity.  Eternity ! 
The  earth  will  be  removed,  the  sun  be  turned  to  dark- 
ness, the  stars,  one  by  one,  leave  their  places  in  the 
sky,  the  universe  become  a  ruin ;  but  we  shall  lire 
on ;  we  cannot  die !  The  spirit  will  look  down  oa 
these  as  but  the  changes  of  the  passing  shadow  o'er 
the  dial-plate,  while  it,  with  all  its  capacities,  will  be 
hastening  on  to  other  and  still  other  scenes — for  ever  in- 
creasing in  knowledge,  for  ever  brightening  in  that 
blessed  abode  with  more  of  God  in  its  expanding 
powers;  or  forever,  for  ever  sinking  in  darkness  and 
despair  and  keenest  regret.  Then,  what  is  life,  the 
world,  with  its  pretensions  ?  Let  it  pass  on ;  the  throne 
of  God  remaineth  sure ;  by  the  new  and  living  way,  I 
trust,  my  liie  is  bound  to  that.  I  trust  that,  cleansed 
from  all  unrighteousness,  I  shall  at  last  come  before  its 
mysterious  splendor  and  holiness,  fully  accepted  in 
Christ." 


HANNAH   M.  PICKARD. 


101 


CHAPTER  VII. 


Last  vVinter  at  home.  Thanksgiving.  Desire  to  remain  at  home. 
Self- accusation.  Interview  with  Professor  Upham.  Nearness 
to  Christ,  beautiful  illustration.  Letter  to  Mrs.  Stebbins.  Death 
of  her  Mother.     Detail  of  circumstances  to  Mr.  Pickard. 


In  November,  1840,  Miss  Thompson  returned  to 
Boston,  and  spent  her  last  winter  at  home.  The  visit 
was  peculiarly  interesting,  owing  to  her  increased  reli- 
gious interest,  and  to  the  probability  that  it  was  the 
last  which  she  would  enjoy  in  her  father's  family.  It 
was  also  peculiarly  dear  and  useful  to  her  friends,  for 
the  "  Baptism  of  the  Spirit "  which  she  had  received 
prepared  her  to  eve.i  .^  more  decidedly  beneficial  and 
religious  influence.  Her  spiritual  state  was  not  only 
acknowledged  in  words,  but  was  exhibited  in  her  man- 
ners. Perfect  love  heightened  the  amiability  of  her 
temper,  and  gave  an  earnest  tenderness,  ^nd  untold 
grace  to  every  expression  of  her  counteiia-fce,  every 
movement  of  her  life.  Her  rich  experience  of  divine 
things  was  rendered  a  special  blessing  to  her  parents. 
Her  mother  entered  eagerly  into  her  feelings,  and 
realized  in  her  own  soul  a  larger  measure  of  spiritual 
communications.  They  thus  seemed  to  be  mutually 
prepared  for  a  distressing  scene  which  occurred  in  the 
family,  before  the  visit  closed.  On  the  occasion  of  the 
9* 


102 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


annual  Thanksgiving,  dear  to  every  New-England  heart, 
■he  thus  writes. 


"  Somerset  Place,.  Nov.  26th. —  Our  annual  festi- 
val has  again  arrived ;  the  day  which  I  joyously  wel- 
comed in  childhood's  years,  to  which  I  have,  since  that 
period,  repeatedly  looked  forward  with  delighted  ex- 
pectations, and  which  I  this  morning  hail  with  grateful 
emotions.  In  years  past  our  little  family  circle  gath- 
ered around  a  happy  fireside  ;  two  now  are  absent  — 
are  at  rest ;  one  is  tl^e  centre  of  another  circle  which 
she  calls  her  own,  whom  we  expect  to-day ;  and  I  —  to 
God  I  give  the  future.  Led  by  His  unfailing  care,  and 
richly  blessed  with  His  love.  He  has  once  again  returned 
me  home.  What  yet  lies  before  me,  or  how  to  choose, 
I  know  not.  I  will  rest  upon  His  '  sure  love  and  ten- 
der care.'  I  am  not  my  own.  If  I  may  still  receive 
from  Him  the  inestimable  gift  of  the  Spirit,  I  can  bid 
adieu  to  all  of  earthly  good. 

♦Without  Thee  I  am  poor. 
And  with  Thee  rich,  take  what  Thou  wilt  away.* 

Sweet  as  are  the  enjoyments  of  my  dear  home,  precious 
to  my  heart  as  are  the  friends  so  valued,  and  of  whom 
I  am  so  undeserving,  I  have  yet  sweeter  enjoyments  — 
a  Friend  more  highly  valued,  and  a  Home  dearer  to  my 
hopes — they  are  found  '  alone  in  Heaven.'  " 
f  .-■■,-/■    I -ifc^. 

It  seems  she  was  very  much  inclined  to  adopt  a  plan 
for  remaining  at  home,  instead  of  returning  to  Wilbra- 
bam,  with  the  view  of  acquiring  some  fuller  preparation 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


103 


for  usefulness  in  coming  years.     Respecting  this  state 
of  mind  and  the  result,  she  writes, 

"Dec.  17.  —  During  most  of  the  time  since  my  re- 
turn home,  I  have  had  constant  peace  in  believing; 
temptation  seemed  to  have  lost  its  power  over  me ;  to 
rest  in  Christ  seemed  to  be  enough,  and  the  involuntary, 
constant  expression  of  my  heart  was,  Thanks  be  to 
God  for  the  gift  of  the  Spirit !  His  church,  our  church, 
and  its  means  of  grace,  have  been  inexpressibly  dear 
to  me,  and  I  thought  that  all  the  fruits  of  the  Spirit 
were  being  more  fully  developed  in  my  nature.  Yet 
evil  had  not  departed  from  around  me ;  O  how  vigi- 
lantly must  we  guard  the  <  issues  of  life.'  A  plan 
very  plausible  offered  itself  to  me,  relative  to  the  dis- 
posal of  my  time.  It  harmonized  perfectly  with  my 
wishes ;  and  my  thoughts  began  to  dwell  upon  it.  I 
think  I  tried  to  persuade  myself  that  I  could  thus 
best  glorify  God.  I  suffered  my  heart  to  go  on  with- 
out rendering  an  impartial  account  of  its  motives, 
until,  startled  by  the  risings  of  improper  emotions,  I 
found  myself  going  farther  and  farther  from  Christ, 
my  own  will  exalting  itself,  and  my  evidence  of  full 
acceptance  totally  obscured.  I  hasten  to  return  to 
Him ;  I  would  wait  for  ever  at  His  feet ;  I  am  dis- 
tressed at  havir^g  grieved  His  love.  I  gaze  again  upon 
Him  as  our  continual  sacrifice,  and  in  humble  prayer 
have  some  seasons  of  sweet  assurance  that  I  am 
wholly  His — but  my  enemy  seems  stronger  while 
my  confidence  is  much  weakened.  I  can  say  now  in 
gratitude  to  Him  who  came  to  my  rescue,  <  The  snare 


;,Afo«ii^,Vi:^\'j^'t'',ii{v'fc-.-.?^' 


104 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


is  broken,  and  I  am  escaped,'  though  I  may  add,  still 
trembling  and  ruffled  by  the  dangerous  entanglement. 
I  fly  to  Christ,  resolved  to  seek  no  other  rest — 'all, 
all  I  want  is  there.'  His  mercy  faileth  not  to  our 
unrighteousness,  His  forbearance  towards  our  weakness 
ceaseth  not.  I  can  rejoice  that  it  is  the  Lord  who 
ruleth  in  the  earth." 

It  is  interesting  to  observe  the  various  phases  of 
Christian  experience,  since  they  may  be  occasions  to 
others  of  profitable  direction,  or  admonition,  or  of  com- 
fortable hope.  And  for  this  reason  it  is  best  to  portray, 
as  far  as  possible,  the  precise  spiritual  exercises  through 
which  a  devout  Christian  passes,  both  of  joy  and  sor- 
row, of  exultation  and  depression.  Our  sister  not  only 
possessed  a  native  diflidence  which  led  her  frequently 
to  unnecessary  self-condemnation,  but  she  was  really 
very  conscientious  and  strict  with  her  own  heart,  and 
allowed  no  truant  thought  or  emotion  to  go  unrehuked, 
no  traitorous  purpose  to  remain  within  her  breast. 
January  9th,  1841,  she  writes: 


it 


I  have  just  returned  from  M.,  and  am  again  pre- 
paring to  surround  myself  with  the  employments  of 
home,  and  to  do  what  is  necessary  in  order  to  my  re- 
turn to  Wilbraham.  These  appear  to  press  upon  me, 
and  with  such  accompaninents  of  care  as  almost  unfit 
me  to  discharge  them,  I  fear,  with  a  state  of  mind  ac- 
ceptable to  God.  Where  is  the  blessedness  I  spnke  of 
but  a  few  weeks  since  ?  O  that  God  would  lift  upon 
me  the  light  of  his  countenance,  and  chase  these 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


105 


shadows  from  my  mind.  I  do  ardently  desire  to  be  all 
conformed  to  His  likeness.  I  am  weary  of  wandt.'.ng 
from  Him  ;  I  abhor  myself  that  I  can  ever  forget  His 
love,  or  hesitate  one  moment  to  obey  His  voice  with 
all  haste  and  delight.  And  yet  how  often  have  I  done 
this  within  a  few  days  past.  O  my  Savior,  I  come  to 
Thee — I  have  no  other  hope,  and  it  is  not  vain  to 
trust  in  Thee,  it  is  not  profitless  to  call  upon  Thee.  I 
come  to  the  atonement,  God  is  in  that,  and  I  can  never 
be  moved.  I  stand  close  by  my  Savior,  who  casts 
none  away.  My  unworthiness  is  not  seen  amid  the 
ineffable  glory  reflected  upon  me  by  His  righteousness. 

*  Behold,  what  manner  of  love  the  Father  hath  bestowed 
upon  us,'  spoken  of  by  the  Savior, '  thou  hast  loved  theiu, 
as  Thou  hast  loved  me!'  O  let  the  soul  shrink  at  the 
thought ;  let  it  forget  the  mortal  vestment  which  hides 
the  Celestial  Presence  from  its  vision ;  forget  the  tur- 
moil and  discord  of  these  fleeting  scenes,  and  trace  its 
better  portion,  its  wealth  of  blessedness,  in  these  words, 

*  Beloved  of  God ! '  This  love  is  not  the  smile  which 
earth's  ephemeral  friendship  brings  to  bedight  its  fa- 
vorites with  —  nor  yet  the  pure  love,  such  as  the  human 
heart  bestows,  mid  sorrow,  ch-^nge  and  death,  upon  a 
frail  though  kindred  heart.  On  these  He  looks  well 
pleased,  and,  by  the  holy  blessing  they  impart,  would 
have  us  learn  more  fully  how  to  love  PT'.iiself.  Bright 
rays  of  joy  from  that  full  source  are  ever  gleaming  o'er 
our  way,  so  bright  that  we  sometimes  forget  they  are 
but  emanations  —  yet  these,  all  these  do  not  mark  us 
the  beloved  of  the  Father,  God  having  prepared  some 
better  thing  for  us  that,  without  this,  life  should  not  be 
perfect — the  glory  to  be  revealed! " 


106 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


.  I  feel  some  delicacy  in  presenting  to  the  public  a 
portion  of  the  following  letter,  as  it  refers  to  the  senti- 
ments and  experience  of  a  distinguished  individual 
now  living ;  but  it  is  inserted  for  the  purpose  of  giving 
the  influence  of  his  testimony  to  the  wider  promulga- 
tion of  a  precious  and  important  doctrine  of  Chrisdan 
faith,  in  which  his  own  heart  so  truly  and  fully  delights. 
To  an  act  of  this  character  he  will  oppose  no  scrupu- 
lous sensitiveness  of  his  own,  since,  I  trust,  with  him 
the  glory  of  God,  and  the  good  of  souls  are  paramount 
to  all  considerations  of  personal  pleasure  or  ease.  To 
Mr.  Pickard  our  sister  writes : 


"January  15th. —  Yesterday,  I  received  your  last : 
and,  after  concluding  a  document  which  I  had  just  be- 
fore commenced,  thought  I  might  have  time  to  attempt 
something  for  you,  when  Br.  King  called  to  say  that 
himself  and  lady  would  take  tea  with  us  that  afternoon, 
accomnanied  by  Professor  Upham,  with  whose  name, 
I  suppose,  you  are  familiar  in  the  walks  of  mental 
philosophy.  Perhaps  you  are  aware  that  both  himself 
and  his  wife  have  heartily  embraced  the  doctrine  of 
holiness ;  they  arc  true  and  faithful  witnesses  of  its 
power  and  blessedness  ;  it  seems  to  be  the  air  in  which 
they  breathe,  and  its  spirit  is  evinced  in  every  word. 
I  think  I  have  never  met  with  any  one  who  may  more 
successfully  recommend  it.  There  is  a  childlike  sim- 
plicity in  his  manners,  which  renders  conversation  with 
him  most  easy  and  agreeable.  Holiness  was  all  his 
theme,  and  during  that  short  visit  in  which  we  met, 
strangers,  probably  to  meet  no  more  here,  I  felt  that  I 


^§jJM))jj|w4f  pi^ujswj  J(wi,i,«i'i:j  I  '/i~ 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


107 


gathered  precious  principles,  of  which  I  may  reap  the 
fruit  in  the  world  to  come.  This  is  certainly  one  of 
the  rich  advantages  of  holiness  to  be  'instant  in  season 
and  out  of  season,'  and  by  yielding  to  the  impulses  of 
a  ready  and  faithful  spirit,  leave  a  deeper  impression 
upon  the  heart  than  it  is  possible  for  one  of  less  firm 
and  free  will  to  do. 

"  He  regrets,  deeply,  the  general  impression  of  the 
exceeding  greatness  of  the  blessing,  which  makes  it 
appear  so  difficult  of  attainment  to  those  who  are  led 
to  contemplate  it,  and  admire  its  beauty.  He  says,  in 
few  words,  he  wishes  to  assure  such  that  it  consists  in 
nothing  more  than  an  humble,  constant  faith  in  God, 
and  a  more  full  de»f^'opment  of  long-suffering,  meek- 
ness, love  and  all  the  gentler  virtues  of  the  soul  —  that 
the  act  is  only  entire,  free  consecration,  believing  that 
He  who  has  promised  does  accept,  believing  it  steadily 
at  all  eventny  and  without  waiting  first  to  receive  the 
witness  within ;  because  if  we  must  nof  believe  that 
we  are  accepted  unless  we  can  first  have  the  full 
testimony,  we  are  not  walking  by  faith  but  by  sight. 
He  thinks  that  many  do  not  receive  an  especial  man- 
ifestation of  the  Spirit,  when  they  may  be  cleansed, 
but  pass  into  a  state  of  mind  characterized  by  '  quiet- 
ness,' and  '  a  calm  resting  in  God ;'  and  he  would 
never  doubt  but  in  such  a  state  an  individual  may 
safely  <  reckon  himself  dead  unto  sin,  but  alive  unto 
God.'  The  Alpha  and  Omega,  in  his  view  of  it,  ap- 
pears to  be  faith  —  still  faith.     Is  not  this  orthodox  ? 

"  Since  last  I  wrote  you,  I  have  had  very  li  tie  en- 
joyment.     Though   I  have  felt  continually  that  the 


108 


MEMOIR  OF  MRS. 


world  is  nothing  to  me,  I  have  not  had  that  sweet  con- 
sciousness of  entire  dedication,  and  of  communion 
with  God  as  before.      Your  doubts   and  difficulties 
trouble  me  some,  and  lead  me  to  fear,  from  the  readi- 
ness with  which  I  first  admitted  the  '  hope,'  that  I  have 
been  deceived,  at  least  that  my  experience  may  be 
very  superficial.     Perhaps  this  is  not  an  unprofitable 
exercise  to  me ;  yet  I  know  not  what  more  to  do,  than 
to  take  what  has  been  done  by  Christ.     I  will  make 
mention  of  His  righteousness  —  of  His  only — for  cer- 
tainly /  have  none  other.     I  can  rejoice  that  the  single 
object  —  to  please  God,  actuates   me    in   seeking  to 
possess  and   exemplify   this   glorious  attainment.      I 
know  that  I  wish  to  serve  Him  eyer  with  all  my  heart. 
I  give  up  the  anxiety,  to  some  extent,  which  has  so 
disturbed  me,  relative  to  my  acceptance ;  though  He 
hide  Himself — yea,  'though  He  slay  me,  yet  will  I 
trust  in  Him.'     Shall  we  not  venture  out  farther  upon 
the  merits  of  Christ  as  the  ground  of  our  acceptance 
before  God  ?     A  short  time  since,  in  prayer,  the  thought 
was  presented  to  my  mind  with  peculiar  force,  of  being 
so  near  Christ,  so  veiled  by  His  atonement,  that  He 
only  is  seen  by  the  Father ;  then  followed  a  remem- 
brance of  the  petition  oflered  by  Him  while  manifested 
in  the  flesh  — '  That  the  love  wherewith  thou  hast 
loved  me,  may  be  in  them.'     What  can  this  mean  ? 
Shall  we  ever  be  able  to  comprehend  its  depth  ?    Should 
we,  even  '  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord,'  be  permit- 
ted, with  all  the  light  of  that  holy  place  which  He  has 
'prepared'  for  us,  to  study  into  the  now  hidden  reve- 
lations of  that  *  Love,'  will  it  not  then  be  overwhelm- 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


109 


ing  mjj&i.ery  ?  O,  is  it  not  encouragement  to  trust  in 
the  Savior,  if  God  is  willing  so  unutterably  to  honor 
such  approach  to  Himself? 

"  I  don't  know  but  you  will  almost  tire  of  my  ex- 
clamations, but  as  this  idea  takes  possession  of  my 
mind,  the  '  new  and  living  way '  appears  so  lovely,  so 
near,  so  direct,  that  I  reluctantly  admit  any  other 
thought,  and  cannot  forbear  expressing  these  to  you. 
*  He  is  near  that  justifieth  me!  '  1  must  tell  you  an 
incident  which  very  happily  illustrates  this  to  my  mind. 
A  young  gentleman  went  with  a  party  one  afternoon 
to  fish.  They  first  sought  the  sea-shore,  but  being 
unsuccessful  there,  concluded  to  visit  a  lake  upon  a 
mountain  some  distance  off".  They  found  the  ascent 
very  toilsome,  and  long  ere  they  reached  the  lake,  were 
almost  overcome  with  thirst.  They  searched  around 
for  water,*  and  found  a  little  pool,  but  it  was  so  troubled 
and  muddy  that  it  could  afford  them  no  relief.  The 
young  gentleman  selected  an  eminent  position,  and 
cast  his  eyes  afar  off  to  every  point  of  view,  for  the 
desired  object,  but  in  vain  ;  and  he  was  about  to  throw 
himself  down  in  despair,  when  just  at  the  base  of  the 
rock  on  which  he  was  standing,  and  nearly  concealed 
by  the  fresh,  high  grass,  a  clear  little  spring  softly  issued 
its  waters ! " 


The  following  affectionate  remembrance,  written  to 
a  valued  friend  in  Wilbraham,  will  be  read  with  inter- 
est, for  the  delicacy  and  Christian  purity  of  its  senti- 
ments. 

10 


no 


MEMOIR   OF  MRS. 


Boston,  January  28,  1841. 
My  dear  Friend,  Mrs.  Stebbins, 

In  one  of  the  Oriental  countries,  a  beautiful  tradi- 
tion prevails — that  whoever  first  interrupts  a  long 
silence,  has  been  touched  by  the  wing  of  a  passing 
angel.  I  do  not  assume  to  come  to  you  with  a  super- 
natural message,  or  that  I  now  write  under  any  such 
inspiration,  but  simply  to  acknowledge  a  continued  debt 
of  affection  and  gratitude.  There  are  many  happy 
influences  now  in  my  mind  which  are  not  unworthy  to 
be  attributed  to  a  source  as  high  as  this.  Indeed  with 
whom  are  the  springs  of  Christian  aflection  and  sym- 
pathy ?  Who  first  unsealed  the  heart,  and  caused  it 
to  send  forth  a  genial  flow  of  mingling  kindness  »:nd 
love,  to  beautify  and  cheer  our  course  through  life  ? 
Even  to  Him  are  we  indebted  who  doubly  blesses  us 
by  adding  to  these  the  name  of  His  son !  O,  what  a 
power  in  this  thought  to  sanctify  and  render  these 
precious  gifts  purer,  dearer,  and  then  too — eternal! 
Cheerfully  may  we  resign  to  oriental  lands  their  deli- 
cate imagery  of  genii  and  talisman  —  we  have  a  more 
sure  word  of  consolation,  a  rich<  r  gift,  in  hallowed 
friendship.  You  must  excuse  these  exclamations  — 
but  I  expressed,  almost  unawares,  the  vivid  thought 
which  awoke  in  my  mind,  of  our  deep  obligation  for 
these  blessings  of  which  you  and  I  have  so  often  tested 
the  value. 

■^  I  have  not  forgotten  you  while  my  pen  has  been  in- 
excusably silent.  It  is  but  another  illustration  of  a 
truth  which  much  troubles  me  —  that  I  do  ever  make 
so  poor  returns  for  favors  of  which  I  am  most  unde- 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


Ill 


serving,  for  I  do  not  think  that  you  have  ceased  to 
remember  me  with  interest,  or  that  you  will  not  wel- 
come my  tardy  testimonials  of  continued  interest  in 
yourself. 

1  do  not  think  I  shall  ever  forget  Jfilhraham ;  nay, 
with  all   the  fluctuation  in  its  society,  with   all   the 
changes  which  years  may  bring,  I  must  ever  affection- 
ately remember  it  still.     In  default  of  more  accurate 
information  you  would  be  amused  with  my  frequent 
visits  by  the  aid  of  that  most  perfect  locomotive  —  the 
imagination.     My  first  visit,  on  arriving,  is  usually  at 
the  Ladies'  Boarding  Hall,  not,  perhaps,  because  I  find 
that  the  most  pleasant,  but  by  way  of  old  association. 
Having  passed  from  space  to  space,  and  found  matters 
in  customary  order,  I  next  glide  out  across  to  call  upon 
Mrs.  Raymond.     I  venture  from  room  to  room  until  I 
meet  her  ever  cordial  smile.     Of  her  occupation,  I  am 
not  always  certain ;  of  the  tenor  of  her  thoughts  I 
presume  I  am  less  frequently  mistaken, —  a  melancholy 
yet  cherished  object  leads  them,  which  I  can  appreciate 
sufficiently  to  point  her  to  the  bright  issue  opened  to 
us  in  the  words  —  "  Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 
My  next  employment  is  to  seek  you  in  the  well-known 
sitting  room,  shaking  you  heartily  by  the  hand,  which 
you  do  as  warmly  return,  although  now,  I  suppose,  you 
can  hardly  acknowledge  it.     Jane  and  the  babe  have 
kisses  of  which   they   know  nothing,  and  your  hus- 
band many  a  wish  for  his  success.     But  you  will  weary 
of  the  relation   of  my  "  travels  at  home,"   in  which 
none  are  forgotten  fiom  whom  I  could  expect  a  wel- 
come. 


112 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


I  am  very  desirous  of  hearing  from  some  one  of  the 
success  or  operations  of  the  little  Missionary  Circle, 
this  winter, -and  of  the  interest  which  there  may  be  in 
religion,  in  the  Church  and  School.  I  hope  the  prayer 
meetings  of  Tuesday  eve  among  the  ladies  are  con- 
tinued. O,  how  much  work  have  we  before  us,  what 
facilities  are  provided  to  aid  us,  and  how  soon  we  may 
be  caljed  away  from  both.  Hourly  are  we  warned  by 
the  lingering  sufferer,  and  the  suddenly  summoned  ;  at 
every  point  we  may  hear  an  echo,  "  The  Master  is 
come,  and  calleth  for  thee  !  "  Such  an  hour  would 
appear  to  me  to  be  full  of  joy  —  when  the  last  voice 
invites  the  soul  to  its  pure,  unchanging  Home  on  high. 
Are  we  both  "  looking  for  and  hasting  unto  the  coming" 
of  that  day  ?  We  shall  need  white  garments  then  ; 
are  they  now  cleansed  from  every  stain  ?  O,  I  rejoice 
that  this  blessed  hope  in  the  full  efficacy  of  the  atoiit- 
ment  has  not  been  hidden  from  me  through  unbelief, 
or  restrained  by  prejudice.  I  am  thankful  for  our 
Church.  But  I  am  almost  preaching  to  you,  yet  when 
I  permit  my  pen  to  express  a  thought  relative  to  ouf 
precious  faitii,  I  say  more  than  I  am  at  times  aware  of. 
I  wonder  not  that  the  angels  linger  and  praise. 
Sincerely  and  affectionately, 

Yours,  H.  M.  T. 


In  the  early  part  of  the  coming  Spring,  our  sister 
was  called  to  drink  deep  of  the  cup  of  sorrow.  She 
had  spent  the  winter  most  pleasantly  and  profitably. 
Her  home  affections  had  gathered  strength  in  view 
of  a  probable  separatioji  ere  long.     To  her  mother  she 


,-    ,     ,  .  .,-,™  ,     ,,^,^_.  ,->«..-,■.  W-jjT. 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


113 


.»> 


was  most  fondly  and  most  deservedly  attached.  Mrs. 
Thompson  was  a  woman  of  strong  good  sense,  of  great 
energy  of  character,  united  with  unaffected  piety, 
great  friendliness  and  courteousness  of  manners,  and  a 
most  faithful  and  affectionate  heart.  Hannah,  being 
rather  more  feeble  in  bodily  constitution  than  the  rest, 
and  of  a  very  sensitive  nature,  had  been  an  object  of 
peculiar  maternal  solicitude  and  attention,  and  had 
thus,  naturally,  a  large  share  in  the  affection  and  con- 
fidence of  her  mother.  There  was  between  them,  too, 
at  this  time,  a  strong  bond  of  mutual  endearment  in 
the  similarity  of  their  religious  feelings  and  interests. 
They  enjoyed  many  seasons  of  free  social  intercourse, 
on  the  subject  of  entire  consecration,  and  looked  for- 
ward to  other  seasons  of  happy  spiritual  communion. 
But, 


"O  !.  'tis  one  «cene  of  parting  here, 

Love's  watchword  is  —  Farewell ! 
And  almost  starts  the  following  tear, 

Ere  dried  the  last  that  fell  ! 
'T  is  but  to  feel  that  one  most  dear 

Is  needful  to  the  heart, 
And  straight  a  voice  is  muttering  near, 

Imperious,  Ye  must  part !  " 


That  revered  and  beloved  mother  was  now  to  bid 
farewell  to  her  dear  family  and  friends,  and  to  sunder 
earthly  ties  that  they  might  be  transferred  to  heaven. 
Hannah  was  making  preparation  to  leave  home  once 
more  for  Wilbraham,  when  her  mother  was  taken  ill. 
She  became  worse  very  fast,  and  soon  the  sad  announce- 
10* 


114 


MEMOIR   OF   MR9< 


ment  was  made  that  she  could  not  recover.  The  two 
daughters,  with  others,  rendered  her  all  possible  atten- 
tion, but  could  not  stay  the  silent  march  of  death. 
Hannah  was  particularly  assiduous  during  the  very 
last  hours  of  her  life,  and  seemed  riveted  to  her  bed- 
side by  intense  anguish  of  feeling.  Her  mother  died 
with  the  sweet  expression  of  Christian  triumph  on  her 
countenance,  which  she  had  uttered  with  her  lips  while 
she  could  speak,  saying,  "All  is  well,  all  is  well."  But 
Hannah  was  for  a  while  overwhelmed  with  natural 
grief;  and  though  sensible  it  was  all  right  and  for  the 
best,  yet  ever  after  did  this  event  occasion  a  sense  of 
loneliness  and  loss  which,  though  she  was  placed  in 
circumstances  most  propitious  for  enjoyment,  nothing 
was  calculated  entirely  to  remove. 

She   communicated    the   sad   intelligence   of   her 
mother's  death  to  Mr.  Pickard  in  the  following  letter. 


BosTOxN,  March  21, 1841. 
My  dearest  Friend, 

Once  more  I  prepare  to  address  you ;  but  O,  how 
shall  I  describe  the  change  which  has  occurred  with  us 
since  last  I  seated  myself  for  that  purpose.  As  a  dread 
consciousness  of  its  reality  is  forced  upon  me,  my  heart 
sickens,  and  language  seems  to  flee  away.  Can  I  tell 
you  —  my  Mother,  my  dear  Mother  is  no  more.  Yes- 
terday we  consigned  her  long  loved  form  to  the  keeping 
of  the  tomb.  O,  that  day  of  tears  and  loneliness.  I 
cannot,  cannot  express  to  you  my  feqlings ;  —  the  pain 
of  heart — the  weight  of  grief  and  its  wearisomeness 


r.;"=f^TW?"*"'T»n'-'^T;cnf"*. 


-"F"*-^^^ 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


115 


you  have  known,  and  will  therefore  excuse  at  this  time 
a  brief  relation  only  of  her  illness  and  death. 

She  was  attacked  quite  suddenly,  a  fortnight  previ- 
ous to  her  death,  with  complaints  similar  to  some  with 
which  she  had  been  heretofore  occasionally  ill ;  and 
although  more  seriously  affected,  we  had  no  apprehen- 
sion of  danger  until  the  Sabbath  previous  to  her  decease, 
when  symptor-is  of  organic  disease  appeared,  which 
baffled  the  efforts  of  physicians,  and  affected  every 
part  of  her  system.  She  had  not  much  acute  pain, 
but  for  the  last  three  or  four  days  remained  in  a  lethar- 
gic state,  interrupted  by  some  intervals  of  consciousness. 
During  these  intervals  her  reason  never  wandered, 
though  she  was  able  to  converse  but  little,  having 
much  difficulty  to  articulate.  This  was  a  great  depri- 
vation to  us  ;  yet  in  the  few  sentences  afforded  us  we 
have  an  abundant  source  of  consolation.  Last  Monday 
morning,  Br.  T.  C.  Peirce  came  to  see  her.  As  his 
name  was  announced  at  her  bedside,  she  slowly  said, 
"  I  am  glad ;  tell  him.  All  is  well,"  to  which  he  sol- 
emnly replied,  "  Praise  God,"  and  she  added  "  All  is 
well  —  all  is  well  —  yes  —  all — is  —  well."  This 
was  a  favorite  expression  of  hers ;  and  when  a  friend 
said  "  I  am  sorry,  Mrs.  Thompson  to  find  you  so  sick," 
she  replied,  "I  am  glad  you  find  me  so  well — all,  all 
is  well."  As  the  effect  of  the  disease  seemed  to  in- 
crease upon  the  brain,  she  remarked  that  she  found 
great  difficulty  in  fixing  her  thoughts  long  upon  any 
subject,  but  said  that  she  felt  "  great  nearness  to  God," 
and  added,  "  Jesus  is  with  me  all  the  time  " — "  I  have 
no  fear  of  death  because  Jesus  is  there."     Never  for 


116 


MEMOIR  OF   MRS. 


a  moment  did  she  appear  to  be  disturbed  by  a  doubt 
relative  to  her  final  acceptance.  O,  how  merciful  is 
our  Heavenly  Father  that  He  did  not  suffer  her  to  be 
tempted  in  an  hour  when  she  would  probably  have 
been  unable  to  bear  it.  I  feel  that  for  this  mercy  alone 
to  my  dear  mother,  I  owe  to  Him  all  I  am. 

From  the  commencement  of  her  illness,  she  mani- 
fested no  anxiety  about  any  thing  of  worldly  interes**,. 
I  do  not  recollect  that  she  made  an  inquiry  concerning 
any  of  the  affairs  which  had  always  occupied  her  at- 
tention, but  she  appeared  to  be  daily  in  mind  more 
removed  from  these  ;  and  when  nothing  else  could  be 
mentioned  to  animate  her,  the  name  of  Jesus  never 
failed.  We  cannot  doubt  that  He  has  now  taken  her 
whciC  He  is,  that  she  may  behold  His  glory.  About 
half  past  eight  o'clock  on  Thursday  morning,  the  18th 
inst.,  her  spirit  calmly  passed  away  from  us,  without  a 
groan,  or  gasp,  or  motion.  We  feel  that  we  should 
yield  her  up  as  peacefully.  We  knew  it  was  of  the 
Lord,  who  is  "  too  wise  to  err,  too  good  to  be  unkind." 
But  O,  the  parn  — the  pain;  my  dear  friend,  you  re- 
member all  —  the  tireless  watching,  the  alternations  of 
hope  and  fear,  the  anxious  scanning  of  the  physician's 
countenance,  the  importunate  prayer  to  the  great  Phy- 
sician —  but  now  all  is  past,  we  are  alone. 

We  all  realize,  in  some  degree,  the  fulfilment  of  the 
promise,  "  When  thou  passest  through  the  waters,  I 
will  be  with  thee."  He  is  faithful  and  true,  and  does 
not  leave  us  comfortless.  We  are  enabled  to  acqui- 
esce, and  own  it  to  be  the  best  time.  God  had  evi- 
dently been  preparing  her  for  this  event,  by  awakening 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


117 


in  her  increased  spirituality  of  mind,  and  strong  desires 
for  holiness  of  heart.  The  day  before  she  was  taken 
sick,  we  were  conversing  together  upon  this  subject, 
and  she  fully  expressed  her  feelings.  I  do  not  think 
she  had  then  a  clear  evidence  of  perfect  love,  but  it 
was  sufficient  to  cast  out  fear.  We  can  but  rejoice  in 
our  sorrow  that  she  is  removed  from  fatigue,  and  care, 
and  sin,  to  the  rest  enjoyed  in  Heaven. 

Excuse  this  unfilled  page,  for  my  mind  is  weary, 
and  confused  with  grief  and  want  of  sleep ;  a  few 
days'  rest,  I  doubt  not,  is  all  I  need. 

Very  faithfully  and  affectionately, 

Yours,  H.  M.  T. 


■i,^v_vtf.'^w.r. 


118 


MEMOIR   OF  MRS. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


Returns  to  Wilbraham.  Effect  upon  her  of  hor  Mother's  death. 
Her  reflections  on  that  event.  Extracts  of  Letters.  Close  of 
her  connection  with  the  Academy.  Estimation  in  which  her 
Bervicos  were  held.  Her  employment  and  appearance  at  liome. 
Her  sentiments  in  view  of  her  contemplated  marriage.  H"r 
marriage,  and  voyage  to  St.  John. 

In  about  a  week  after  the  distressing  occurrence  just 
narrated,  Miss  Thompson  was  obliged  to  return  to 
Wilbraham,  where  the  school,  already  in  operation  for 
the  Spring  Term,  was  awaiting  iicr  valuable  services. 
She  bade  her  bereaved  parent  and  sister  a  weeping 
adieu ;  and  commcntjed,  in  unwonted  loneliness  of 
feeling,  the  then  peculiarly  trying  duties  of  her  respon- 
sible station.  With  what  deep  yearnings  of  heart  for 
the  lost  society  of  her  beloved  mother,  she  yet  endeav- 
ored to  submit  to  the  infinite  wisdom  of  Providence,  will 
evidently  appear  in  her  letters  and  journal.  Indeed  the 
sickness  and  death  of  her  mother  were  the  severest  trial 
to  which  her  Christian  faith  and  feelings  were  ever  sub- 
jected. But  though  Satan  was  permitfc  d  to  buffet  her 
most  distressingly  wiih  despondency,  fh°.,  nr  r;'heless, 
was  enabled  to  hold  fast  her  confidei:  ;  .  u  iitr  integ- 
rity, and  to  derive,  in  the  issue,  most  abundant 
encouragement  and  aid  in  her  progress  towards  the 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


119 


world  '^  where  immortal  s()irit.s  reign."  It  is  delightful 
to  behold  the  vigorous  young  oak,  whose  leaves  are  yet 
bright  in  the  frc  'mess  of  jring,  bending  in  graceful 
beauty  beneath  the  storm  wliich,  at  the  same  time, 
adds  new  lustre  to  its  folia  .;e  by  the  desccndmi?  shower; 
and  then,  as  the  wind  dies  away,  and  the  sun  breaks 
forth  amid  the  scattering  clouds,  rcarinti;  its  unbroken 
branches,  and  spreading  them  abroad  in  quiet  repose, 
and  with  deeper  and  richer  verdure,  beneath  the  re- 
newed splendor  of  the  sky.  Pity  for  the  young  tree 
bowed  by  the  furious  blast,  gives  place  to  admiration 
at  the  tested  strength  of  its  trunk,  now  more  firmly 
rooted  in  the  soil,  and  at  the  laughing  lu.^trc  of  its 
leaves,  as  they 

«'  Glad,  drink  in  the  solar  fire." 

This  familiar  image  has  been  strikingly  suggested  to 
my  mind  as  I  have  contemplated  the  immediate  effect 
and  final  result  of  this  great  affliction  upon  the  princi- 
ples and  character  of  our  beloved  sister.  I  did  fear 
for  her,  knowing  the  intensity  of  her  filial  affec  ion, 
lest  the  stroke  would  be  more  than  her  religion,  t  cep 
and  pure  as  it  was,  could  sustain  :  but  I  have  also  re- 
joiced to  see  in  her  experience  an  added  testimon}  to 
the  strength  and  blessedness  of  our  divine  Christianity. 
In  the  frequent  recurrence  of  her  thoughts  to  this 
event,  which  the  reader  may  notice,  he  will  see  beaiij- 
ing  out  the  sunshine-smile  of  a  heart  reposing  in  entire 
confidence  on  the  wisdom  and  love  of  her  heavenly 
Father.  I  have  dwelt  the  more  particularly  on  this 
point  of  her  history,  because  it  afforded  the  fairest  test 


m,' 


>^ 


'%  : 


^3J?''TIif;'^7^'Ci;-T^*-^'*»'***r;  ?*!'*■" 


>  ,-Tt  "3  _  -  il*  ^1  ■VmrtwijI^B',  r  ; -T 


-.-.— TBi-T  -];_"•»  J*>^1*  «*f.T« 


130 


MEMOIR  OF  MRS. 


which  she  ever  had  of  the  reality  and  resources  of  her 
acknowledged  faith  in  Christ.  The  attendant  circum- 
stances of  her  own  dissolution  offered  her  no  opportu- 
nity to  show  what  would  really  have  been  her  views 
and  feelings  in  the  known  approach  of  death. 
Upon  ariiving  at  Wilbraham,  she  thus  writes: 

"  March  30.  —  All  is  past  — all  is  past.  Removed 
from  the  dear,  familiar  scenes  of  home,  hallowed  by 
the  presence  of  one  once  active,  and  blessing  us  with 
love  and  kindness,  I  turn  a  moment  to  review  the  way, 
and  glance  at  the  future.  But  O,  the  pain,  the  linger- 
ing anguish  of  that  glance.  My  Mother !  My  Mother! 
can  it  be  that  we  shall  meet  no  more  until  it  be  where 
all  is  spirit  ?  O,  without  thy  watchful  care,  and  tender 
affection,  how  shall  I  encounter  the  ills  and  dangers  of 
life  ;  to  whom  shall  J  flee  for  unfailing  sympathy ; 
where  cfin  I  find  so  kind  forbearance,  so  wise  and  in- 
terested counsel,  so  ready  an  ear  ?  How  can  we  live 
without  thee  ?  But  this  I  know,  all  is  right.  I  will 
trust  in  the  Lord  and  not  be  afraid  ;  and  O,  may  He 
direct  my  way  as  I  go  forth  uncheered  by  thee,  and 
grant  me  a  sense  of  His  presence." 


The  number  of  Miss  Thompson's  correspondents 
was  small,  and  from  but  few  of  this  small  number  have 
letters  been  received  for  this  work.  The  letters  which 
she  wrote  home  were  chiefly  of  a  familiar,  confidential 
character,  that  unfits  them  for  publication,  and  many 
of  them  have  been  mislaid  or  destroyed.  A  few  short 
extracts  from  her  letters  home,  and  one  from  a  letter 


m. . 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


121 


,ri 


to  Mr.  Pickard,  will  keep  the  reader  informed  of  her 
mental  state  during  the  remaining  weeks  which  she 
spent  at  Wilbraham.  Her  time  during  this  term  was 
more  laboriously  occupied  than  it  had  been  in  any  pre- 
vious one.  There  being  one  teacher  less  than  usual, 
more  devolved  o;i  the  remaining  number ;  and  she 
undertook  the  charge  of  two  classes  in  French  in  ad- 
dition to  her  common  labors,  which  obliged  her  to  be 
employed  with  classes  seven  hours  a  day  instead  of  six, 
beside  increasing  her  preparatory  cares  and  studies. 
These  exertions,  together  with  previous  anxiety  and 
present  depression  in  view  of  her  mother's  death,  and 
solicitude  for  her  father's  happiness,  operated  some- 
what injuriously  upon  her  delicate  constitution,  and 
account  for  that  sense  of  weariness  which  she  ex- 
presses frequently  in  her  letters  home.  To  her  sister, 
who  superintended  the  domestic  concerns  of  their 
father's  family  till  her  return  home,  she  wrote : 


"April  12.  —  I  am  much  relieved  to  learn  that  fa- 
ther continues  well,  and,  in  some  degree,  encouraged 
and  happy,  as  I  infer  froni  the  contents  of  your  letter. 
I  know  that  you  will  do  all  that  it  is  possible  for  you 
to  do  to  render  him  so ;  yet  if  I  think  most  anxiously 
about  him  sometimes,  and  imagine  a  thousand  difficul- 
ties, you  can  appreciate  my  borrowed  troubles,  as  you 
are  not  yourself  a  stranger  to  them.  It  would  be  idle 
and  worse  than  that,  to  relate  all  the  things  I  have 
imagined  about  you  there.  I  cannot  prevent  almost 
overwhelming  sorrow,  sometimes,  from  these,  taken 
together  with  the  remembrance  of  mother's  death,  and 
11 


■w"CB^F"""<9ir  "^ 


122 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


it  seems  as  if  I  could  no  longer  endure  to  be  away 
from  you. 

"  You,  Emma,  cannot  feel  exactly  as  I  do  ;  but  you 
can  suppose  the  painful  emotions  which  at  times 
weigh  me  down — alone  in  my  room,  away  from  every 
thing  which  seems  like  home,  and  with  the  vivid  recol- 
lection of  our  loss,  and  recounting,  despite  myself,  the 
last  days  and  hours  of  our  beloved  mother.  At  school, 
or  in  my  room,  I  am  reminded  of  one  of  her  expres- 
sions on  that  afternoon  in  which  she  suffered  so  much 
distress,  '  We  change  the  place,  but  keep  the  pain  :' 
And  O,  the  pain  of  knowing,  that  never,  never  shall 
we  again,  under  any  circumstances,  meet  her  cheerful, 
animated  smile  and  voice,  or  experience  !  or  unfailing 
interest  in  our  behalf,  or  feel  that  we  are  doing  any 
thing  which  will  afford  her  gratification.  I  know  that 
you  can  and  do  follow  me  in  these  painful  thoughts, 
although  if  you  were  here  now,  I  suppose  you  would 
say,  *  Well,  Hannah,  I  do  not  think  we  ought  to  feel 
PC,  but  think  how  much  better  off  she  is  than  she  could 
be  to  live  longer.'  I  do  know  this  too,  and  believe  I 
never  experience  these  emotions  of  sorrow  at  her 
death,  without  some  feelings  of  gratitude  and  praise 
to  God  for  her  infinite  gain.  But  afflictions,  though 
we  are  assured  they  are  '  light '  and  '  for  the  moment,' 
must  still  be  afflictions  ;  we  cannot  but  sorrow  under 
this,  and  think  of  the  loneliness  which  we  must  feel 
without  her.  Let  it  not  be  lost  upon  us,  for  should 
such  a  dispensation  fail  to  bring  us  nearer  to  the  state 
in  which  we  ought  to  be  found,  what  may  we  expect 
yet  to  receive  at  the  hand  of  Him  who  chastens  us 


I 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


1-23 


for  our  good.  We  certainly  are  not  to  cast  away 
reflections  on  it,  nor,  in  feeling  acquiescence  at  the 
removal,  consider  it  as  concerning  her  alone,  with 
no  reference  to  ourselves.  '  In  the  day  of  adversity, 
consider,^  is  the  language  of  one  who  profited  most 
richly  by  his  repeated  afflictions.  I  know  that  in 
the  hurry  and  business  of  the  time  which  we  spent 
together,  there  was  almost  no  opportunity  to  realize 
the  loss  and  the  gain  which  might  both  result  to  us 
from  the  sad  event ;  and,  had  this  long  continued,  we 
should,  doubtless,  have  lost  the  benefit  designed  for  us 
in  it.  But,  with  me,  this  all  passed  away  in  the  few 
hours  which  bore  me  from  home  to  this  place ;  here  I 
can  do  little  else  than  think,  though  it  adds  painfully 
and  wearingly  to  the  constant  employment  which  is 
allotted  me.  I  hope  you  are  afforded  more  time  than 
tliuii  for  contemplation,  and  are  not  only  deriving  pre- 
sent consolation,  but  acquiring  permanent  aid  for  fu- 
ture advancement.  Two  or  three  remembrances,  to 
which  I  will  only  thus  allude,  are  most  distressing  to 
me ;  they  have  been  great  trials  and  hindrances  to  me, 
but  I  give  them  up  now.  One  knows  my  heart  and 
purposes  ;  One  knows  what  they  have  fixedly  been  for 
several  months ;  and,  whatever  temptation  may  have 
done,  knows  that  my  brightest  hopeSy  my  dearest, 
happiest  enjoyments,  are  drawn  from  the  ♦  wells  of 
salvation.'  " 

"April  22. —  I  am  so  tired  and  low-spirited  just  now 
that  it  will  be  almost  in  vain  to  attempt  to  cloak  it 
from  you.  I  know  there  is  no  real  cause  for  depres- 
sion, but  every  thing  quite  the  contrary,  and  yet  I  am 


V 


\ 


124 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


8ad.  I  do  wish  I  could  see  some  of  you.  I  long  to 
lean  my  head  upon  some  kind,  sympathetic  shoulder, 
and  take  one  more  sweet  sleep ;  —  but  O,  I  do  not 
know  that  this  can  ever  be  again.  I  do  not  undervalue 
your  affection  when  I  say  this ;  but  mother  and  I 
always  felt  so  much  alike;  and,  ihen,  none  can  have 
the  patience  with  this  infirmity  of  nature  so  peculiar, 
I  believe,  to  me,  which  she  ever  had.  How  uncon- 
sciously dependent  upon  her  I  have  been  for  sym- 
pathy and  affection;  it  is  time  that  this  should  be 
otherwise,  and  it  must  be  so ;  but  it  is  a  hard  lesson. 
You  must  excuse  me.  I  am  selfish  enough ;  I  have 
more,  a  great  deal  more  affection  from  each  of  you 
than  I  deserve ;  but  I  hope  you  will  bear  with  me, 
and  I  shall  try  to  become  more  like  you,  perhaps,  in 
those  things  in  which  I  am  in  fault." 


The  reader  who  has  been  affectingly  delighted  with 
the  inimitable  lines  of  Cowper  on  the  receipt  of  his 
mother's  picture,  will  not  be  surprised  to  find  that  a 
heart  so  sensitive  as  that  of  our  sister,  should  have 
been  deeply  moved  on  receiving  from  home  a  faithful 
miniature  of  her  own  departed  mother. 

"  May  2. —  How  much  I  do  thank  you  for  your 
undeserved  kindness,  I  cannot,  cannot  tell  you.  I  will 
only  speak  a  moment  of  it.  My  heart  is  very  grateful 
at  all  times  for  each  one  of  you.  It  is  very  late  ;  I  shall 
write  again  this  week,  and  will  tell  you  all  I  can  think 
of  which  would  interest  you.  The  miniature  I  re-. 
ceived  last  Monday.     What  shall  I  say  ?  I  knew  what 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


125 


it  must  be  when  placed  in  my  hand,  and  lost  all  power 
to  open  it  at  first ;  then  I  CQuId  never  get  ready.  At 
last,  I  did  so.  Such  moments  are  'felt,  not  described.' 
And  now  the  difficulty  is  to  close  it.  I  have  set  off  to 
go  up  to  school  two  or  three  times  without  it,  but 
always  returned  back  to  take  it.  I  cannot  leave  it. 
I  was  going  to  say  what  I  thought  of  its  likeness,  but 
I  believe  this  is  enough.  Give  my  love  to  Pamelia,* 
as  earnestly  as  possible. 

"  May  4. —  The  words  of  consolation  which  I  have 
received  from  each  in  your  kind  letters,  have  not  been 
in  vain ;  the  pleasant  smile  which  seems  to  come  upon 
her  lips  as  I  now  look  upon  the  dear  picture,  is  not  in 
vain.  I  can  unite  with  you  most  sincerely  in  saying, 
I  even  prefer  that  it  should  be  just  as  it  is.  That  she 
is  now  for  ever  safe,  for  ever  blest,  fully  satisfies  me, 
although  I  cannot  but  mourn  for  ourselves.  Yet  with 
you,  too,  I  can  say,  had  I  loved  her  less,  I  should  now 
be  without  that  composure  of  mind  which  renders 
mourning  so  much  less  bitter,  by  making  me  willing 
rather  to  bear  the  pain  of  the  bereavement  for  the  sake 
of  her  infinite  and  glorious  '  gain.'  O  yes !  I  wish  I 
were  not  so  selfish ;  I  know  that  you  need  consoling 
too,  and  yet  I  seem  to  think  and  write,  expecting  it  at 
your  hand ;  and  yet  this  is  well,  we  may  be  mutually 
the  consoled  and  the  consoler. 

•Miss  Pamelia  Hill,  of  Boston,  whose  successful  pencil  has 
earned  for  herself  an  enduring  reputation  as  a  skilful  artist ;  and 
whose  delicate  attention,  and  genuine  social  worth,  were,  by  this 
beautiful  tribute  of  affection,  most  sacredly  endeared  in  the  esti- 
mation of  her  grateful  friend. 


i.3tK:.j-, 


126 


MEMOIR   OF  MRS. 


« ' 


The  thought  of  separating  from  you,  my  ever  dear- 
est, earliest,  tenderest  friends,  comes  more  vividly 
before  my  mind,  it  assumes  more  substance  and  painful 
reality  than  Jieretofore.  I  am  glad  mother  is  saved  from 
the  thought.  Change  and  distance  cannot  affect  our 
relation  to  her  now.  But  there  is  father !  and  you, 
Emma !  and  E.  and  the  children !  a  small  company 
soon  numbered,  yet  you  have  all  my  little  stock  of 
affection  and  happiness  —  all !  the  rest  is  only  hope. 
My  kind  and  honored  father — but  this  will  not  do, 
yet  expression  is  a  sweet  relief  at  times ;  and  you  must 
forgive  so  much  of  it, —  you  know  I  have  no  other  free 
opportunity  but  in  addressing  you.     O,  that  I  could 

see  you ! " 

May  1,  she  writes  to  Mr.  Pickard,  "I  place  your 
last  valuable  communication  before  me ;  I  read  again 
the  considerate  and  sympathetic  words  indited  by  your 
kindness,  and  trace  out  to  the  Word  of  Life  thoughts 
suggested  by  your  remarks.  I  bow  my  spirit  down 
before  the  mercy  which  gives  such  promises,  such  con- 
solations, and  from  such  a  source.  How  appropriate 
to  turn  from  the  valley  of  death  to  which  we  are  come, 
to  contemplations  drawn  from  the  word  of  life ;  and, 
though  with  the  tears  which  must  fall  over  the  new- 
made  grave,  to  read  the  intelligence  which  has  come 
to  us  through  and  beyond  it  by  Christ,  of  the  state  of 
those  who  have  found  a  welcome  in  that  '  continuing 
city ;'  convincing  us  that  from  that  '  secure  abode,' 
they  would  not  if  they  could,  return  to  us,  and  en- 
abling us  to  say,  in  all  the  loneliness  of  bereavement, 
'  we  would  not  if  we  could,  without  sin,  call  them 


^\?t ^■i/''r'i_'*: ■^_syr^'!~~'-'^'^■^^ ■^i-^'T^VTn  7'^''"^  "' 


".fT-'iT'^'-^^''- 


»■ 


HANNl\H   M.   PICKARD. 


127 


back  to  earth.'  O  no  !  It  is  the  will  of  the  Lord  — 
there  is  blessedness  in  the  thought.  It  is  safe  to  trust 
in  the  Lord.  It  is  cheering  to  know  by  inward  con- 
sciousness that  in  all  things,  in  the  alternations  of  joy 
and  sorrow,  of  pleasure  and  pain,  a  Father's  infinite 
love  directs  and  guards.  It  is  when  I  lose  this  realizing, 
filial  confidence  that  I  am  cast  down,  and  bitterly  feel 
the  weight  of  our  late  affliction.  Such  hours  are  fre- 
quent. During  these  few  weeks  past,  although  I  cannot 
say  that  my  confidence  in  God  has  failed,  yet  I  have 
been  almost  destitute  of  joy  in  Him,  with  the  exception 
of  some  instances  in  which  my  faith  has  testified  that 
He  has  not  forgotten  to  be  gracious.  My  purposes 
are  the  same  ;  I  must,  I  will  seek  to  do  His  will,  though 
it  interrupt  my  most  cherished  wishes ;  and  I  trust  that 
He  will  give  that  grace  by  which  I  may  do  it,  not  from 
cold  principle  merely,  but  because  it  is  more  than  my 
meat  and  drink. 

"  I  am  grateful  for  your  continued  and  increasing 
joy  ;  for  the  omens  of  good  which  are  manifested 
where  you  have  been  so  many  months  laboring,  making 
the  wilderness  blossom  around  you.  The  idea  which 
you  gave  me  of  the  possible  mode  by  which  our  friends 
in  the  other  world  may  receive  intelligence  of  us,  is 
a  very  pleasant  one,  and  interests  me  exceedingly. 
You  will  perceive  how  readily  my  somewhat  visionary 
mind  admitted  it,  when  I  tell  you  that,  as  I  read  the 
account  of  your  meetings,  with  Christ  in  your  midst, 
and  of  the  numbers  who  seem  to  be  listening  to  the 
call  to  be  His  disciples,  and  remembered  the  joy  which 
there   is  in   Heaven   when   one  sinner  repenteth,  I 


123 


MEMOIR  OF  MRS. 


thought  such  tidings  must  be  entrusted  to  some  swift 
messengers  of  light ;  and  my  mind  attempted  to  follow 
them  as  one  after  another  they  presented  their  reports 
before  the  Throne.  For  an  instant  I  did  imagine  the 
anthem  of  praise  which  followed  ;  and  I  loved  to  think 
that,  with  peculiar  joy,  your  blessed  mother  might  then 
mingle  her  song  with  the  innumerable  company  ;  that, 
perhaps,  it  might  not  be  without  some  former  associa- 
tion, pleasant  even  there,  that  my  mother  would  thus 
commence  her  strains  of  adoring  praise.  O,  it  was  a 
happy  moment,  though  imaginary,  and  left  upon  my 
mind  a  delightful  impression  that  your  name  might 
thus  become  sweetly  familiar  in  the  '  presence  of  the 
angels ! " 

During  the  term  she  devoted  herself  most  self-deny- 
ingly  to  the  duties  of  the  school ;  she  continued  to 
feel  a  strong  interest  in  the  spiritual  welfare  of  those 
around  her ;  and  her  mind  and  hands  were  still  em- 
ployed in  plans  of  benevolent  action.  The  examination 
at  the  close  of  the  term  was  unsurpassed  by  any  pre- 
vious one  in  the  beautiful  decorations  and  successful 
recitations  which  her  department  presented ;  and  in- 
creased the  regret  which  the  officers  and  guardians  of 
the  school  realized  in  being  called  to  dissolve  their 
connection  with  one  who  had  brightened  their  social 
circle,  as  well  as  won  increased  popularity  to  the  insti- 
tution under  their  care.  This  was  the  last  term  of 
Miss  Thompson's  connection  with  the  Academy ;  and 
it  is  just  to  say  that  in  no  previous  one  had  she  given 
more  satisfactory  proof  of  entire  competency  for  her 


^ 


"■;  f 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


129 


labors. ,  She  had  exalted  the  station  by  her  emi.  jnt 
qualities,  and  given  an  example  of  what  a  skilful  and 
useful  preceptress  should  be.  Without  offence,  but 
with  deepening  impressions  of  her  worth  on  the  minds 
of  all  concerned,  she  had  passed  on  from  term  to  term, 
until  it  became  a  matter  of  anxious  inquiry  with  the 
friends  of  the  school,  how  her  vacancy  coulH  be  suitably 
supplied.  As  evidence  in  point,  I  quote  from  a  letter 
received  from  one  of  the  teachers,  Br.  Goodenow,  who 
has  been  for  many  years  connected  with  the  Institution. 

"I  am  much  pleased  with  the  idea  of  a  Memoir  of 
Miss  Thompson,  or  rather  Mrs.  Pickard :  I  am  quite 
partial  to  the  old  name.  She  was  a  lovely,  refined 
and  intelligent  lady.  As  a  Christian,  she  was  devotedly 
pious  and  useful.  As  Preceptress  of  the  Wesleyan 
Academy,  she  sustained  a  reputation  that  has  never 
been  excelled.  And,  finally,  after  she  left,  the  impor- 
tance of  securing  her  services  was  felt  to  be  such,  that 
our  Principal  took  a  journey  to  Boston  to  see  if  he 
could  not  procure  them  another  term,  even  if  her  con- 
templated union  with  Mr.  Pickard  should  thereby  be 
deferred.  If  ever  I  thought  it  the  duty  of  a  lady  to 
remain  single  a  number  of  years  for  the  good  of  a 
literary  institution,  she  was  that  person.  Her  field 
of  usefulness  was  large,  and  she  improved  it  not  only 
professionally  but  religiously." 

She  felt,  however,  that  this  union  ought  not  to  be  long 
deferred  ;  and  that  the  situation  of  her  father's  family 
required  her  personal  attention  so  long  as  she  could  be 


gi^i^jidAtii^;:fr:kt>ia4ia^^  , 


130 


MEMOIR   OF  MRS. 


justified  in  postponing  her  marriage.  She,  therefore, 
bade  adieu  to  the  scene  of  her  professional  and  Chris- 
tian labors,  of  her  mental  conflicts  and  religious  joys, 
and  to  the  circles  of  attached  friends,  and  sought  at 
home,  by  filial  duty  and  affection,  to  aid  and  comfort 
her  surviving  and  honored  parent.  She  now  found 
herself  invested  with  new  cares  and  responsibilities. 
She  had  before  enjoyed  not  only  the  presence,  but  the 
provident  watchfulness,  and  judicious  and  afl'ectionate 
converse  of  her  beloved  mother.  Now  she  was  called 
herself  to  superintend  the  domestic  concerns  of  a  large 
family,  and  to  walk  as  nearly  as  possible  in  the  remem- 
bered footsteps  of  her  departed  parent.  This  she  did 
with  the  success  attributable  to  a  well-disciplined  mind, 
and  to  an  earnest  attention  to  the  voice  of  duty,  and 
the  leadings  of  Providence.  The  reader  will  be  pleased 
to  see  recorded  the  impression  which  her  appearance, 
at  this  time,  made  upon  the  mind  of  one  of  her  early 
friends,  who  had  had  but  one  opp'>rtunity  before  this 
of  seeing  her,  since  she  was  a  child.  The  writer  is 
the  Rev.  C.  Adams,  whose  sprightly  account  of  her 
childhood  is  contained  in  the  first  chapter.  E  j  speaks 
of  an  interview  with  her  after  her  final  return  home,  in 
the  following  manner.  „;  ;  iV^*' i 


"  It  was  my  privilege  to  see  your  dear  sister  but 
once  more.  This  was  after  she  had  retired  from  the 
Institution  of  which  she  had  been  so  long  a  distinguish- 
ed ornament;  and  a  few  months  previous  to  her  mar- 
riage. Her  mother,  whom  she  so  tenderly  loved,  was 
no  more  among  the  living ;  and  Hannah  appeared  to 


I 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


131 


be  occupying  the  position  of  directress  of  her  father's 
house.  I  had  now  the  opportunity  of  contemplating 
her  under  new  aspects,  and  the  impression  left  upon 
ihy  mind  from  this  interview  was  of  a  truly  delightful 
character.  Her  whole  appearance,  at  that  time,  was 
suited  to  aid  such  an  impression.  Her  person  was 
slender  and  graceful.  In  her  countenance  modesty 
and  frankness  were  admirably  combined,  while  cheer- 
fulness and  sedateness,  beautifully  blended,  gave  to 
her  general  manners  a  charm  which  I  never  shall  for- 
get. And  there  was  an  air  of  piety  and  devotion  ac- 
companying her  conversation  that  I  had  not  noticed 
formerly  ;  and,  withal,  a  delightful  dignity  and  propri- 
ety attending  all  her  movements,  whether  in  the  parlor 
or  presiding  at  the  table.  In  a  word,  I  saw,  in  that 
remembered  visit,  what  I  deemed  a  fair  and  lovely 
specimen  of  a  lady  —  a  specimen  marked  by  the  ab- 
sence of  scarcely  a  single  desirable  feature  ;  in  whom 
were  united,  in  chaste  and  delicious  harmony,  those 
graces  and  those  virtues  which  pre  wont  to  adorn  the 
excellent  of  this  world. 

"  But  the  scene  is  closed  !  Hannah,  the  blooming, 
the  amiable,  the  talented,  the  pious,  has  passed  to  her 
heavenly  and  eternal  abode,  leaving  foot-prints,  few, 
yet  beautiful,  '  on  the  sands  of  lime.'  Her  memory  is 
blessed.  It  is  good  that  she  was  born.  Mellow,  sa- 
cred and  happy  was  the  influence  which  she  breathed, 
and  the  sequel  is  everlasting  life." 

She  now  looked  forward  with  mingled  emotions  to 
the  approaching  period  when  she  should  enter  that 


132 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


new  and  holy  companionship,  which  death  alone  could 
dissolve.  Her  religious  exercises  are  indicated,  with 
some  distinctness,  in  the  following  extract  of  a  letter 
to  Mr.  Pickard  ;  and  in  this,  and  a  subsequent  one, 
she  describes  her  varied  emotions  in  view  of  the  inter- 
esting event,  and  also  her  views  of  the  responsibility 
which  she  should  assume  by  becoming  the  wife  of  a 
minister  of  Christ.  .         ... 


- 


"Aug.  13,  1841.  —  Were  I  able  to  think  of  this, 
(event,)  as  perhaps  so  soon  to  be,  without  some  pain, 
I  do  not  know  that  I  should  be  more  deserving  your 
esteem.  The  kind  attentions  of  my  good  father,  the 
society  of  my  much-loved  sister  and  her  family,  and 
my  circle  of  partial  friends,  are  all  before  my  thoughts, 
and  the  question  arises  with  new  force.  Can  I  leave 
them  ?  Were  my  emotions  towards  you  of  a  doubtful 
character,  I  should  even  now  decline,  being  unable  to 
make  the  sacrifice  necessary  to  so  wide  a  separation  — 
but  I  do  not.  Compelled  to  acknowledge  the  hand  of 
Providence  in  our  acquaintance  thus  far,  and  trusting 
in  His  promised  favor,  I  am  happy  in  my  anticipations 
of  the  future,  depending  not  for  their  realization  upon 
external  circumstances,  but  upon  mutual  aflection  and 
mutual  devotedness  to  God. 

"  Cumbered,  as  I  now  am,  with  much  serving,  and 
surrounded  by  the  things  seen,  which  so  draw  away 
the  heart  from  the  high  purposes  it  may  form,  I  am  in 
danger  of  forgetting  that  it  is  not  all  of  life  to  attend 
well  to  these,  and  often  look  with  hope  of  better  days 
to  the  time  when  I  shall  have  your  Christian  aid.    One 


ij^^i-.^AJf,ii;iLiimi. 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


133 


not  skilled  in  the  knowledge  of  the  windings  of  the 
heart,  would  wonder  how,  in  a  life  of  so  little  conse- 
quence to  the  world,  discouragements  should  come  of 
sufficiei  t  magnitude  to  interrupt  a  calm  progress  toward 
heaven  ;  but  when  I  tell  you  that  I  seem  to  be  making 
no  attainments  in  holiness,  you  will  pity  the  slothful- 
ness  which  neither  of  us  can  for  a  moment  extenuate. 
I  have  done  almost  nothing  for  Christ,  and  fear  1  shall 
always  remain  the  most  unprofitable  servant  whom  His 
grace  visits.  Meanwhile,  His  name,  and  word,  and 
cause  are  inexpressibly  dear  to  me,  and  I  would  gladly 
lay  at  His  feet  an  offering  more  worthy  than  any  which 
I  have  hitherto  presented.  How  poor  should  we  be 
in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  if  Christ  had  not  redeemed  us  ! 
I  am  not  without  confidence  in  Him,  yet  how  much 
less  is  it  than  the  infinite  riches  of  His  mercy  would 
enable  me  to  express.  As  my  thoughts  dwell  here,  my 
heart  rejoices,  and  the  insensibiHty  with  which  earthly 
employments  so  successfully  veiled  these  heavenly 
views  from  my  apprehension,  is  partially  withdrawn. 
/  can  claim  our  Savior's  merits,  and,  through  Him, 
grace,  providential  guidance,  and  a  share  in  every  glo- 
rious hope.  I  will  hope  that  I  am  not  so  much  a 
stranger  to  His  grace,  or  alien  from  \ns  love,  as  I  was 
just  now  fearing. 

"  Sept.  10.  —  In  the  thought  of  so  soon  sacredly 
entrusting  my  all  to  you,  I  am  happy  ;  my  confidence 
and  afifection  toward  you  waver  not,  and,  were  only 
my  happiness  at  stake,  I  should  not  be  found  of  you, 
as  now  I  must,  '  in  weakness  and  in  fear,  and  in  much 
trembling,'  relative  to  the  future ;  but  as  the  time  ap- 
12 


134 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


proaches,  difficulties  appear  to  magnify,  and  it  is  hardly 
possible  for  me  at  any  time  to  dismiss  an  oppressive 
timidity  about  rendering  myself  worthy  of  confidence 
from  yourself  and  church,  by  a  useful  and  blameless 
deportment.  You  will  suft'er  me  to  tell  this  to  you  at 
this  late  hour  of  our  acquaintance,  because  I  doubt  not 
your  sympathy  will  much  relieve  my  fears.  I  could 
never  r.dopt  the  opinion  of  some  individuals,  that  in 
such  a  relation  to  society,  there  are  no  more  responsi- 
bilities than  devolve  upon  other  members  of  the  com- 
mu'iity  ;  that  home  may  mark  the  extent  of  duty  and 
effort.  I  could  not  satisfy  myself  with  so  circumscrib- 
ing these,  and  making  no  higher  aspirations  where  so 
much  seems  to  invite  them.  I  have  often  set  up  a 
beau-ideal  of  a  suitable  character  ;  but  O,  it  is  not  your 
friend  IT.  M.  T.  To  be  able  to  discharge  such  duties, 
however  our  Father  in  heaven  may  choose  to  vary 
place  or  circumstances,  would  gratify  my  highest  aim  ; 
yet,  withal,  I  fear  I  poorly  understand  them.  Some- 
times I  am  much  disheartened  ;  one  thought  encour- 
ages mc — it  is  invaluable,  and  I  would  not  exchange  its 
steady  light  for  all  the  self-confidence  of  vanity ;  it  is, 
that  watchful  Providence  has  led  us  on.  He  surely 
never  appoints  to  any  situation  those  whom  He  cannot 
n^akc  suitable  to  answer  His  designs ;  there  is,  then, 
an  open  way  to  Ilim  who  *  giveth  to  all  liberally.' " 


The  day  at  length  arrived  when  her  union  with  Mr. 
Pickard  was  to  be  consummated.  The  marriage  cere- 
mony was  performed  by  the  Rev.  J.  B.  Husted,  in  the 
Bromfieid  Street  Church,  Boston,  at  four  o'clock  on  the 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


135 


afternoon  of  Saturday,  the  second  day  of  October, 
1841.  Hasty  gratulations  of  friends  at  her  father's, 
occupied  the  brief  interval  in  which  she  prepared  to 
embark  for  her  voyage  to  a  land  of  strangers,  hence- 
forth to  be  adopted  as  her  home.  They  accordingly, 
soon  after,  went  on  board  the  steamer  North  Ainerica, 
and  at  6  o'clock,  left  their  moorings  at  the  foot  of  Long 
wharf,  and  shaped  their  cour^^e  for  the  city  of  St.  John, 
N.  B.,  in  whose  neighborhood  Mr.  Pickard  was  then 
appointed  to  preach.  The  wind,  already  boisterous 
when  they  left  tlie  wharf,  increased  very  soon  to  a 
most  furious  and  frightful  gale,  and  lashed  the  ocean, 
darkened  by  the  night  and  the  thick  and  cloudy  atmo- 
sphere, into  angry,  surging  and  foaming  billows.  The 
pilot  wisely  judged  it  necessary  to  safety  to  put  into 
Portsmouth  Harbor,  where  they  rode  out  securely  this 
protracted  and  dangerous  storry,  by  which  scores  of 
unfortunate  vessels  were  either  stranded  or  ingulfed. 
At  length,  on  Friday  evening,  they  reached  their  des- 
tined port,  amid  thanksgivings  and  congratulations  of 
friends  for  their  safe  arrival  from  the  perils  of  the  sea, 
and  took  up  their  abode  in  their  pleasant,  new  home, 
in  Portland,  a  parish  adjoining  St.  John. 


m 


■I ^Ofli.]- .;jiwm^'*-Tr^?"ji«_-'.r;«^,;7 -Tlf  TyT ^t ;< "; '   r, ' > T^ i"'=  -"',-' 


136 


MEMOIR   OF    MRS. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Description  of  the  city  of  St.  John,  and  vicinity.  H(?r  voyage 
and  recoption.  Private  reflections.  Grateful  sentiments  on 
"Thanksgiving-day."  S3Mnpatliy  for  the  poor.  Attachment  to 
old  associations.  Sk(-tch  of  St.  John.  Tea  Meeting,  first  in  Now 
Enghind.  Cause  of  her  cordial  welcome.  Impressions  relative 
to  religious  society.     Her  devotion  to  God  and  zeal  to  do  good. 


St.  John  is  situated  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  of  the 
same  name,  and,  owing  to  its  location,  is  destined  to 
become  a  place  of  extensive  commerce.  The  river  Pt. 
John,  with  its  tributary  streams,  waters  a  large  extunl 
of  country  which  depends  on  the  city  for  its  supj)lies  of 
foreign  conmierce,  and  wiiich  yields,  in  return,  timber 
and  agricultural  ])roduce.  All  parts  of  li  s  province 
are  exceedingly  well  watered,  but  in  no  other  are  so 
many  streams  comiectcd  as  in  this.  The  main  stream 
is  a  noble  river,  and  extremely  pictu  csijuc  and  delight- 
ful, in  its  whole  extent.  For  ten  or  twelve  miles  above 
the  city  the  banks,  which  are  composed  principally  of 
limestone,  graywackc  and  granite,  arc  very  high  and 
precipitous,  the  river  apparently  wearing  its  tortuous 
course  among  the  hills.  At  that  distance  the  bed  of 
the  river  becomes  more  capacious,  the  shores  receding 
on  either  side,  and  the  view  extending  onward  for 
twenty  miles  without  obstruction.    Then,  in  a  narrower 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


137 


channel,  it  sweeps  along  by  smiling  villages,  situated 
along  its  banks,  on  the  interval,  which,  in  the  spring 
freshet,  is  completely  inundated.     In  many  cases,  at 
such  times,  the  only  mode  of  passing  from  house  to 
house  is  by  boat.     The  inhabitants  endure  this  annual 
submersion  of  their  land,  and  inconvenient  position  of 
their  houses,  for  the  sake  of  the   fertility  which  the 
alluvial  deposit  communicates  to  the  soil,  by  which 
they  are  enabled  to  reap  most  luxuriant  crops  of  grass 
and  grain.     Just  above  the  city  St.  John,  the  waters  of 
these  connected  streams,  coming,  in  all,  the  distance 
of  a  thousand  miles  or  more,  have  apparently  worn 
for  themselves  a  new  outlet  to  the  sea  through  rocks 
of  from  thirty  to  sixty  feet  perpendicular  elevation, 
which  seem  to  stand  aghast  at  the  rushing  and  roaring 
torrent,  as  it  rolls  resistlessly  onward  to  the  ocean.    Not 
only  has  the  earth  been  washed  away,  but  huge  frag- 
ments of  rock  have  been  tumbled  into  the  depths  which, 
at  low  tide,  form  a  majestic  cataract,  the  immense  mass 
of  water  not  falling  from  a  great  height,  but  dashing 
and    foaming   over  the   rocky    bed   with   tremendous 
energy.     To  span  this  tremendous  chasm  a  suspensirn 
chain-bridge    was   once    nearly   completed,    when    it 
swung  loose  from  its  fastenings,  and  precipitated  sev- 
eral workmen  and  others,  sixty  or  seventy  feet  into  the 
abyss  of  destruction.     These  Falls,  of  course,  prevent 
the  river  navigation  from  reaching  the  wharves  of  the 
city,  and  occasion  a  portage  of  a  mile  or  more  from  the 
basin  above  the  Falls  to  the  city  below. 

St.  John  is  sixty  miles  from   East  port,  the  nearest 
town  on  the  coast  belonging  to  the  United  States ;  and 
12* 


138 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS. 


is  about  thirty  miles  from  Nova  Scotia,  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  Bay  of  Fundy.  Its  harbor  is  sufficiently 
capacious,  and  is  safe ;  and  in  this  respect,  it  is  as 
well  situated  as  any  place  along  the  shore  of  the  Bay, 
if  not  better.  It  is  not  at  all  probable  that  any  other 
place  in  the  province  will  compete  with  it  In  commer- 
cial advantages.  It  embraces  a  very  enterprising  and 
business-like  community,  which  has  shown  itself  pos- 
sessed of  substantial  means  of  prosperity  in  seasons  of 
great  calamity  and  embarrassment.  It  has  risen  with 
renewed  energy  from  the  ashes  of  desolating  fires,  and 
is  nobly  recovering  from  the  overwhelming  depressions 
which  the  manufacturing,  *he  lumbering  and  commer- 
cial interests  have  suflered  within  eight  or  ten  years 
past.  It  is  the  first  landing-place  of  a  great  many 
Irisli  emigrants,  who,  in  due  time,  find  their  way  to  the 
States ;  but  who,  while  they  remain,  add  a  floating 
population  which  contribute  nothing  to  the  quiet,  the 
reputation  or  the  wcaltli  of  the  city.  The  settled  pop- 
ulation is  about  thirty  thousand. 

The  city  presents  a  fine  appearance,  on  sailing  up 
the  harbor.  It  is  composed  of  irregular  elevations, 
covered  with  private  and  public  buildings,  several  of 
which  a'-e  substantial  structures  of  brick  and  stone. 
The  city  is  founded  upon  rock,  principally  slate.  The 
streets  are  mostly  wide  and  regular,  crossing  each 
other  at  right  angles;  and  are,  many  of  them,  cut 
through  the  solid  rock,  so  that  paving  is  unnecessary. 
There  arc  fifteen  places  of  worship,  including  three  for 
the  Methodists. 

On  the  side  of  the  harbor  ojiposite  St.  John,  is  the 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


139 


parish  or  town  of  Carleton  ;  and  adjoining  the  city  on 
the  north,  Hes  the  parish  of  Portland,  extending  up 
the  river  to  Indian  Town,  the  landing  place  above  the 
Falls,  and  including  several  steam  mills  in  different 
locations.  There  are  several  large  ship-yards  in  Port- 
land, most  conveniently  situated  for  the  purpose. 
About  three  years  ago  a  very  elegant  and  commodious 
ship  just  ready  for  launching,  built  by  Mr.  John  Owens, 
and  valued  at  nearly  fifty  thousand  dollars,  was  sud- 
denly consumed  by  fire,  which  spread  to  adjoining 
buildings  and  houses,  and  occasioned  a  great  loss  of 
property,  and  consequent  distress  among  the  destitute 
sufferers.  Portland  is  built  .chiefly  along  the  base  of 
a  limestone  range,  which,  with  its  bald,  rough  brow, 
towers  far  above  the  humble  dwellings  of  the  villagers. 
There  are  four  places  of  worship,  one  of  which  belongs 
to  the  Methodists.  It  was  in  this  village  that  Mr. 
Pickard  had  his  appointment,  when  our  sister  left  her 
beloved  home  to  accompany  him  to  new  scenes  in  the 
land  of  her  adoption. 

Her  reception  and  situation  in  Portland  and  St.  John 
will  be  most  satisfactorily  understood  from  the  letters 
which  she  wrote  to  her  friends,  in  which  will  also  be 
found  several  characteristic  incidents  descriptive  of  the 
condition  oC  the  people  and  place  where  her  lot  was 
'now  cast.  A  few  occasional  notes  in  her  journal  will 
inform  the  reader  of  the  state  of  her  heart,  and  sug- 
gest the  secret  motives  and  feelings  by  which  she  was 
actuated  in  her  present  relations  and  duties.  Portland 
is  so  directly  connected  with  the  city  as  to  easily  pass 
fur  a  part  of  St.  John,  and  this  accounts  for  the  use  of 


--Tr^V,-.',"lT-*'?'"''  r'V'-  '■.'    ;'"»■:■ 


:--'^:oj'»»'W7J^7:r"?5l*,'TTT  ■ 


:-*.rt^^f:'.*y  -'*:'' 


140 


MEMOIR   OF  MRS. 


several  expressions  in  her  letters  and  journal,  in  which 
she  considers  them  as  one. 

She  thus  writes  to  her  father  and  sister,  Oct.  10, 
1841: 

"  How  happy  I  am  to  sit  down  to  hold  communion 
with  you  once  again  after  the  few  eventful  past  days ; 
and  yet  I  scarcely  know  where  to  begin,  or  what  ex- 
pressions to  use,  most  satisfactorily  to  meet  the  thousand 
inquiries  which  I  know  your  intense  interest  would 
suggest,  could  we  see  each  other  eye  to  eye.  But 
since  we  are  so  widely  separated  that  your  eager  in- 
quiries cannot  now  reach  me,  I  will  talk  awhile  alone 
to  you,  and  wait  the  necessary  time  for  the  most  desired 
response  from  you,  my  true-hearted,  long-tried,  aflfec- 
tionate  friends. 

"  Having  outrode  the  gloomy,  perhaps,  almost  dan- 
gerous storm,  I  for  the  time  forget,  in  the  novel  quiet 
of  our  own  dwelling,  those  long  days,  which  seemed 
neither  day  nor  night,  so  sickening,  so  monotonous,  in 
which  we  toiled  against  the  head  wind  over  the  rough 
water,  and  turn,  in  vivid  recollection,  to  the  time  when, 
with  emotions  not  to  be  described,  I  felt  the  severance 
of  my  lot  henceforth  from  yours,  as  the  boat  pushed 
from  the  wharf;  and  relying  solely  upon  4  chosen  one, 
and  upon  One  stronger  than  he,  I  could  nevertheless 
but  deeply  feel  that  I  was  leaving  home  and  most 
highly  prized  friends,  whose  partial  regard  of  me  was 
kinder  than  I  ought  to  expect  to  find  again  with  these 
strangers  among  whom  I  am  to  seek  a  new  home  and 
new  friends.     That  hour  is  past,  I  see  none  of  you ; 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


141 


but  Oj  when  shall  I  cease  to  dwell  upon  the  remem- 
brance of  you  afleclionately,  as  if  I  were  continuing  to 
experience  the  accustomed  favors  from  you  ?  And,  be 
assured,  your  remem!  ranee  of  me  —  that  kind  of  sen- 
timent which  I  know  you  will  ever  cherish,  I  shall 
always  regard  as  among  my  best  favors. 

"  Friday  noon  we  were  greeted  with  a  view  of  the 
city  St.  John,  from  a  magnificent  bay  which  seemed  to 
extend  and  ip'^rease  in  beauty  as  we  entered  and  passed 
across  it.  We  were  met  on  board  the  boat  by  one  of 
the  ministers  of  the  society,  who  very  cordially  wel- 
comed me  to  the  province,  and  next  by  Mr.  Pickard's 
father.  With  but  short  delay  from  the  inspection  of 
custom  house  officers,  we  were  soon  within  what  is 
to  be  our  home  for  the  present.  The  part  of  the  city 
where  we  are  heginning  to  reside,  is  quite  retired  and 
country-like.  A  broad,  and  still  brightly  verdant  slope 
before  us  to  the  bank  of  a  small  stream,  separates  us 
from  the  noise  of  the  city.  The  houses  around  us  are 
disconnected  and  agreeable  ;  the  one  we  occupy  is 
small  but  very  convenient,  it  is  neat  and  white,  cottage- 
form,  with  pretty  entrance,  and  a  long  garden  extend- 
ing in  front  with  walk  to  the  gate.  We  found  it  very 
comfortably  and  pleasantly  arranged  for  our  receptioti. 
We  have  a  very  kind  and  lady-like  neighbor,  (Mrs. 
Owens)  with  whom  I  am  now  quite  well  acquainted, 
and  into  whose  garden,  adjoining  ours,  I  can  run  without 
a  bonnet.  We,  that  is,  II.  P.,  his  father  and  myself,  took 
tea  with  her  the  first  evening  of  our  arrival.  They 
invited  Mr.  P.  to  remain  with  them  till  morning,  but 
he  declined,  saying,  he  must  '  take  care  of  the  chil- 


^.''^'*VW-. 


142 


MEMOIR   OF    MRS. 


dren  '  in  their  home.  He  welcomed  me  most  affection- 
ately, and  in  our  evening  prayer  commended  me  and 
us  so  thoughtfully  and  r.ppropriatcly  to  God  and  His 
grace,  that  I  could  not  but  love  him. 

'*  I  suppose  you  would  be  ready  to  ask  me  if  I  am 
happy.  I  cannot  tell  you  in  this  poor  letter ;  I  de- 
signed a  better  one,  but  owing  to  an  engagement  have 
greatly  hurried  it,  and  I  must  now  close.  In  my  next 
I  will  tell  you  of  that,  if  1  can  express  it.  Please  re- 
member me  with  all  affection  to  the  friends  in  B.,  to 
the  members  of  our  family  severally." 

Oct.  loth,  she  makes  the  following  private  record. 

"  Since  permitted  to  make  the  above  brief  entry,  the 
Providence  of  God  has  united  indissolubly  my  present 
and  future  interests  to  the  interests  and  care  of  another. 
The  decisive  words  are  spoken,  the  hour  is  past.  I 
have  pronounced  the  <  adieu  '  to  the  endearing  scenes 
of  my  former  home.  I  have  said  '  farewell '  to  my 
tender  father  and  sister  ;  and  while  a  friendly  gleam  of 
late  twilight  lingered  above  my  city-home,  defining 
it  distinctly  to  my  eye  when  all  other  objects  were 
shrouded  in  night,  I  began  to  feel  that  I  was  indeed 
separated  from  friends  and  delights  most  fondly  cher- 
ished. I  turned  away  and  glanced  upon  the  broad 
rough  waters  —  it  was  to  me  like  that  sea  of  life  upon 
which  I  was  now  embarking ;  yet  I  could  calmly  rely 
upon  "my  chosen  one,  a'ld  upon  One  stronger  than  he, 
and  be  happy. 

*'  Now,  O  Thou  upon  whom  our  united  faith  would 
rept,  and  our  supreme  love  more  abundantly  dwell,  we 


Lctii^JfriVj.  i:;  ^'■t^-i.K. 


' '  ''^^Hpif^':J<^>*f  ^'.•'^'■J'-.'^WP 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


143 


turn  to  Thee,  nor  turn  in  vain.     Thou  alone  art,  and 
Bhalt  be,  the  ground  ^f  our  confidence  for  the  present 
and  the  future.     'Our  help  and  refuge  is  in   God.' 
Thou  hast,  we  feel  that  Thou  hast  given  us  to  each 
other.     O  perfect  that  which  concerneth  us,  and  Hess 
us  that  our  affection   for  each  other,  our  talents  and 
the  means  of  their  improvement,  our  time  and  all,  our 
*  little  all,'  may  be  constantly  and  fully  consecrated  to 
Thee  —  that  our  hopes  may  ever  meet  in  Thee,  that 
our  fears  may  ever  subside  at  Thy  feet,  and  that  thus 
the  life,  so  kindly  blessJed  here  in  its  earthly  commence- 
ment, may  be  perpetuated  and  blissfully  consummated 
where  earthly  Christian  unions  are  spiritualized  and 
refined,  in  those  mansions  prepared  for  Thy  faithful 
followers. 

"  Nov.  4.  —  Another  month  is  begun.  With  the 
swiftly  passing  days,  and  increasing  cares,  we  are  has- 
tening on.  Soon  they  will  no  more  please  or  annoy 
us.  Then  let  me  be  diligent,  not  with  the  hand  that 
*maketh  rich'  in  earthly  stores,  but  with  that  which 
'  scattereth  '  good  to  others,  which  wearieth  not  in  well- 
doing. For  this  I  may  have  care;  then,  when  the 
bread  which  perisheth  shall  fail  to  revive  the  fainting 
strength,  and  the  shades  of  niglit  can  no  more  yield 
refreshing  repose,  then  shall  the  '  Bread  of  Life '  be  my 
portion,  and  my  Rest  shall  be  to  live  for  ever  in  the 
presence  of  God." 

She  again  wrote  to  her  Father,  Nov.  9th. 
"  I  must  not  omit  to  remind  you  of  me  again  this 
week,  by  communicating  to  you  whatever  I  can  sup- 


:^±l 


144 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


pose  it  would  give  you  pleasure  to  know  of  your  distant, 
youngest,  and,  I  may  add,  to  you  faithfully  aftectionate 
daughter.  Although  I  feel  the  deepest  interest  in  your 
daily  affairs,  and  in  all  the  minutiae  v/hich  may  be  af- 
fecting any  of  those  whom  I  love  so  well  in  good  old 
New-England,  I  yet,  in  thought,  dwell  much  more 
upon  my  affection  for  them,  which  seems  to  kindle 
more  brightly  from  separation  so  wide,  and  with  much 
delight  upon  their  testified  and  supposed  affection  for 
me. 

"  Your  last  letter  was  very  Welcome,  and  the  assur- 
ance of  your  continued  fatherly  remembrance,  a  true 
cordial ;  while  it  always  meets  a  lively  return,  I  trust 
you  will  think  mo  not  undeserving.  I  must  ever  look 
towards  you  even  from  tliis  far-off  point,  and  towards 
your  house,  as  still  my  home.  Few,  indeed,  and  far 
between  must  be  my  opportunities  of  testing  the  wel- 
come to  it  which  you  have  so  very  kindly,  and  so  re- 
peatedly promised  me  ;  yet  scarcely  had  your  farewell 
voice  ceased  upon  my  ear,  and  the  outline  of  your 
figure  quickly  faded  from  my  eye  in  the  mists  of  that 
storm-gathering  evening,  when  I  had  already  com- 
menced to  anticipate  that  welcome,  as  I  should  again 
find  my  way  o'er  the* waters  whose  motion  I  had  then 
hardly  begun  to  feel  upon  my  outward-bound  course." 


Referring  in  the  letter  to  the  New-England  Thanks- 
giving, which  was  to  occur  on  the  25th  of  the  month, 
she  says, 

"  I  will  not  write  or  think  of  such  occasions ;  and 
yet  there  is  pleasure  in  doing  so  while,  as  now,  I  am 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


145 


surrounded  by  every  thing  to  make  me  happy.  I  shall 
remember  you  then,  and  though  I  cannot  be  one  of 
your  circle,  I  can  unite  with  you  all  in  the  true  senti- 
ment of  the  day.  Should  now  and  then  a  sad  thought 
come  to  my  mind,  because  I  cannot  take  the  wings  of 
that  morning,  and  greet  you  then,  I  can  look  around 
me  and  be  most  truly  thankful.  Have  any  cause  for 
gratitude?  I  more.  Should  any  banish  sad  thoughts  of 
friends  afar?  Let  me,  I  must  add,  never  indulge  them. 
One  is  our  keeper.  One  is  our  Savior,  and  one  Home 
shall  be  ours  at  last  with  those  who  have  already  left  us. 
O  when  I  remember  this,  I  feel  nearer  to  you,  nearer 
to  them  ;  and  think  it  matter  of  little  consequence  that 
the  brief  period  which  remains  to  us  should  be  all  spent 
in  the  society  of  each  other.  Let  us  be  where  we  can 
do  the  most  to  the  glory  of  God  ;  then,  when  we  shall 
have  accomplished  as  a  hireling  our  day,  will  we  forget 
the  temporary  separation,  and  all  these  'light  afflic- 
tions '  of  our  way,  in  the  possession  of  the  glory  to  be 
revealed  in  us  when  we  shall  together  be  for  ever  with 
the  Lord.  I  think  the  question  which  you  proposed  to 
me,  whether  I  am  happy,  is  answered  ;  but  one  thing 
is  needful  to  make  me  pre-eminently  so,  and  that  is,  a 
heart  more  constantly  and  devotedly  given  to  the  ser- 
vice of  God.  That  I  should  prefer  a  residence  in  New- 
England,  were  tiiis  left  me  to  choose,  io  certainly  true  ; 
but  that  I  should  prefer  a  residence  here,  could  we  be 
more  useful  than  there,  is  as  true.  I  hope  I  may  ever 
maintain  this  power  to  choose,  nor  sin  by  wishing  to 
step  aside  myself  from  the  ways  of  Providence,  or  to 
withdraw  another  from  steadily  pursuing  them.  Only 
13 


!46 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


let  US  have  you  » .ayers  in  love  and  faith  thai  we  may 
always  be  found  in  duty's  course — that  path  of  peace, 
and  we  know  all  will  be  well.  I  can  ask  these,  too, 
from  each  of  you  ns  a  matter  of  debt,  so  often  are  you 
remembered  at  our  family  altar ;  and,  perhaps,  you 
may  sometimes,  I  have  imagined,  receive  additional 
blessings  in  consequence  of  petitions  to  which  I  have 
listened  in  your  behalf,  from  hearts  and  lips  wholly 
strangers  to  you." 


Nov.  25th,  she  writes  in  her  journal,  "  O  Lord,  *  how 
do  thy  mercies  close  me  round !'  Yet,  O,  what  an 
unprofitable  pensioner  am  I  upon  that  bountiful  Friend 
who  daily  crowneth  my  life  with  loving  kindness  and 
tender  mercies  !  How  docs  my  precious  time  flit  away, 
and  my  good  resolutions  sink  forgotten  to  the  dust ! 
Lord,  help  me  to  arise,  to  overcome  the  hindrances 
which  my  human  nature  would  cast  in  my  way ;  and, 
while  my  soul  looks  up  to  Thee  for  aid,  O  give  more 
of  Thy  divine  nature — even  grace  for  grace,  until  I 
shall  perfectly  serve  Thee.  The  abodes  of  poverty 
and  spiritual  darkness  are  around  us.  I  would  fain 
cheer  and  encourage  their  wretched  inmates.  O  Thou 
whose  blessing  maketh  rich  and  addeth  no  sorrow, 
again  I  beseech  Thee,  'help  m(> '  —  go  with  me,  and 
let  Thy  wis<lom,  through  me,  ct>nsole  and  assist  them, 
let  Thy  spirit  of  love  inspire  me  to  cheer  by  kind  words 
the  desponding.  Freely  I  have  received,  freely  would 
I  give. 

"  This  lovely  morn  brings  to  happy  New-England 
the  return  of  their  annual  festival,  <  Thanksgiving  day.* 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


147 


How  delipfhtful,  yet  sad,  are  the  *  thick  coming  fancies ' 
which  arc  called  up  as  memory  walks  backward  through 
the  chequered  past  —  my  dear,  dear  home  of  other  days, 
lightened  by  the  presence  of  my  father  and  my  mother. 
My  mother  —  I  pause  upon  that  dweet  word  —  my 
mother  —  her  voice  seems  to  fancy's  ear  to  reply,  and 
her  dear  form  stands  quick  before  me.  Thanks  un- 
numbered be  to  Him  who  entrusted  the  dawn  of  my 
being  to  her  judicious  management,  and  tenderly  affec- 
tionate care.  IIow  constantly  did  she  seek  to  eradicate 
from  my  heart  and  mind  the  roots  of  bitterness,  and 
every  seed  of  springing  ill ;  how  untiring  were  her  ef- 
forts to  lead  my  spirit  upward  to  its  pure  Author,  and 
to  encourage  the  commencings  of  every  good,  though 
feeble  aim  ;  and  now  she  is  gone  to  her  rest  from  every 
labor.  Since  the  last  anniversary  of  harvest  gratitude, 
j;!i(.'  has  been  gathered  in  —  not  taken  from  life  in  an- 
ger, and  by  an  avenging  stroke  —  but  called  home  from 
her  finished  work  by  our  Father's  voice  of  love.  She 
knew  His  voice,  and  responding  sweetly  '  All  is  well,' 
followed  thr  tt^'h  the  valley  His  kind  bidolrj^.  From 
its  painful  |)assage,  she  shrank  not,  nor  murmured  ;  but 
as  she  y:ainod  the  farthest  side,  and  was  just  entering 
into  tin'  joy  of  her  Lord,  no  words  from  her  lips  could 
reach  us,  but  we  knew  that  the  pearly  gates  were  open- 
ing —  one  full  glance  of  rapture  from  her  eye  lighted 
upon  us,  a  radiant  smile  rested  upon  her  countenance, 
and  we  saw  her  no  more.  She  is  lor  ever  with  the 
Lord.  Well  may  we  remember  her  on  Thanksgiving 
day.  Well  may  gratitude  ever  take  the  lead  of  all 
other  deep-stirred  emotions,  when  we  think  assuredly 


148 


MEMOIR   OF    MRS. 


that  she  is  so  safe  in  her  blissful  possessions.  My  dear, 
own,  only  sister,  could  we  now  meet  in  that  room  so 
consecrated  to  her  memory,  so  inestimably  associated 
with  her  presence,  how  should  we  remember  her  ?  '  In 
silence  and  tears'  — yet  should  we  thank  her  memory 
for  the  tender  love  to  each  other  which  she  taught  us, 
and  for  the  deep  love  to  her,  unchecked  by  death, 
which  her  ever  disinterested  affection  for  us  inspired  in 
our  bosoms." 


As  intimated  in  the  above  extract,  her  sensitive  heart 
was  deeply  affected  by  the  poverty  and  misery  which 
prevailed,  this  season,  among  the  emigrants  and  others 
in  Portland,  and  in  St.  John.  An  unusually  large 
number  of  emigrants  remained  over  the  winter,  and 
such  was  the  commercial  distress,  the  severe  cold,  and 
the  consequent  want  of  employment,  that  the  exercise 
of  Christian  charity  and  benevolence  was  in  large  de- 
mand. Nor  was  it  withheld ;  but  many  a  substantial 
act  of  kindness  was  performed  by  Christian  families. 
Mrs.  Pickard  took  a  lively  and  active  interest  in  the 
condition  of  the  poor,  and,  as  she  had  opportunity,  vis- 
ited their  habitations  to  encourage  and  aid  them.  It 
was  in  the  course  of  these  visits  that  she  became  ac- 
quainted with  the  incidents  which  she  afterwards  so 
well  described  in  one  of  the  narratives  in  the  "  Widow's 
Jewels.''  She  endeavored  to  make  these  visits  profita- 
ble not  only  to  the  body,  but  also  to  the  soul,  and  en- 
tered into  the  most  familiar  and  earnest  conversation 
with  those  she  visited,  on  their  spiritual  concerns. 
There  was  a  humility  and  a  winning  grace  in  her  man- 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


149 


ners  and  intercourse,  which  inspired  respect, confidence 
and  affection  in  all  who  enjoyed  her  society,  and  which 
rendered  her  peculiarly  useful  in  visiting  the  abodes  of 
want  and  suffering.  Her  courteousness  led  her  easily 
to  adapt  herself  to  pe^oons  in  all  conditions  of  society, 
and  her  attention  to  the  destitute  and  afflicted,  was  not 
so  much  the  effect  of  cold  principle,  as  the  warm  dic- 
tate of  the  heart.  She  possessed  a  very  tender  regard 
for  children,  and  attached  them  to  herself  by  the  kind- 
ness of  her  spirit,  and  the  ease  and  gentleness  of  her 
conversation. 

The  following  extract  from  a  letter  to  Miss  Hill,  a 
particular  friend  of  hers,  whose  name  has  already  been 
mentioned,  will  be  perused  with  interest  for  its  descrip- 
tive passages,  the  evident  fidelity  of  her  affectionate 
attachment  to  former  associations,  and  the  suggestion 
of  a  method  of  practical  benevolence,  which  has  since, 
as  the  result,  been  extensively  adopted  in  New-Eng- 
land. 


X. 


"Nov.  26,  1841. — Dear  Pamelia,  —  1  have  been 
delaying  from  day  to  day  to  avail  myself  of  the  privi- 
lege of  writing  to  you,  until  from  some  occurrences 
out  of  the  pale  of  our  affairs,  I  could  be  able  to  borrow 
something  for  your  special  gratification.  And  now  al- 
though such  materials  may  not  be  so  rare  but  that  I 
could  well  fill  the  sheet  with  them,  yet  my  heart  inclines 
me  not  to  depend  upon  these  so  much  as  upon  our  joint 
stock  of  '  mutual  interest  and  assurance,'  which  has 
heretofore  so  readily  answered  my  frequent  large  de- 
mands. How  many  delightful  remembrances  crowd 
13* 


150 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


into  my  mind  as  I  begin  to  write  !  I  can  scarcely  re- 
frain from  dropping  my  pen,  and  yielding  myself  up  to 
the  exclusive  enjoyment  of  these  '  thick-coming  fancies.' 
The  last  month  of  our  association  —  but  it  can  never 
return  ;  well  remembered  by  me  are  its  hours  of  pleas- 
ure and  of  sadness,  which  you  so  well  appreciated  as 
skilfully  to  contribute  to  enhance  the  one,  and  relieve 
the  other ;  but  my  pen  must  not  ramble  among  them. 
There  are,  beside  these,  hours  of  most  high  and  sacred 
emotions  in  which  we  have  been  together — in  years 
past  some,  and  others — O,  of  how  deep  interest  —  with- 
in the  few  brief  months  just  gone  by.  My  mother  — 
when  can  I  forget  those  scenes,  though  I  should  be 
for  ever  removed  from  the  localities  thus  endeared  to 
me,  or  ever  forget  you,  our  friend,  whose  considerate 
attentions  must  leave,  and  have  left,  so  deep  a  trace 
upon  my  heart. 

"  But  I  must  turn  the  current  of  my  thoughts,  and 
try  if  my  pen  can  be  sufficiently  graphic  to  give  you 
some  idea  of  our  city.  St.  John,  then,  shall  now  be 
the  home  of  my  thoughts,  and  it  is  to  me  really  a 
pleasant  one.  I  do  not  mean  that  the  town,  in  itself 
considered,  is,  on  all  accounts,  the  most  to  be  desired 
as  a  place  of  residence.  It  has  many  advantages,  but 
the  change  which  is  so  apparent  to  me,  from  the  hand- 
some, clean  streets  of  Boston,  is  not  calculated  to  ren- 
der it  altogether  pleasing  to  my  eye  or  foot.  Yet  it  is 
but  sixty  years  since  the  first  settlements  were  here 
*  founded  upon  the  rock,'  for  this  is  literally  true  of  the 
whole  city.  Almost  every  cellar  is  an  excavation,  and 
the  streets  are,  many  of  them,  levelled,  with  immense 


TT^T^^y 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


151 


expense  and  labor,  through  the  solid  rock.  Its  location 
is  certainly  one  of  the  very  best;  rising  commandingly 
from  the  bosom  of  a  broad,  open  bay,  at  the  mouth 
too-  of  the  noble  river  St.  John,  and  attended  on  either 
side  by  hills  of  considerable  and  sudden  elevation,  it 
presents  a  scene  of  natural  grandeur,  worthy  indeed 
the  signature  of  royalty :  doubtless  when  sixty  years 
more  shall  have  passed  away,  this  Gibraltar  will  bear 
favorable  comparison  w  .  he  chosen  parts  of  Boston, 
as  they  now  appear.  When  the  still,  warm  days  have 
come,  we  have  had  some  drives  about,  and  I  think  I 
was  never  permitted  to  gaze  upon  scenery  so  delight- 
ful, (with  one  or  two  exceptions,)  from  the  lovely  and 
level,  to  the  cragged  and  sublime,  varying  with  every 
turn,  and  interesting  in  every  change  —  presenting  a 
subject  for  a  painter's  skill,  wherever  the  eye  rests. 
You  must  come,  and  look,  and  enjoy  for  yourself,  and 
we  will  make  pictures  once  again  together. 

"  But  where  every  thing  is  so  engaging  in  the  fea- 
t' res  of  the  landscape,  there  are  characteristics  of 
gloomy  aspect,  which  cannot  fail  to  attract  the  notice 
of  any  one  interested  in  studying  the  lights  and  shadows 
of  hfe,  as  they  are  presented  in  so  mingled  a  commu- 
nity. Poverty  and  apparent  wretcnedness  are  to  be 
constantly  met,  and  that  train  of  evils  which  follow  in 
the  footsteps  of  intemperance.  The  courage  of  benev- 
olence itself  might  almost  fail,  so  little  can  be  done, 
seemingly,  to  relieve  the  ceaseless  demands  of  poor 
human  nature.  The  evident  spiritual  poverty  and 
darkness  are  the  most  to  be  commiserated. 

How  are  you  doing  in  the  operations  of  our  Friend- 


(( 


■-^'I,-'!^---  tr-'y-^v 


^•VT'I^fST^nwr'  '^W^^^' 


15^ 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


ly  Society  ?  *  How  are  the  funds  ?  (I  suppose  you 
will  allow  me  still  to  say  our  Society,  at  least  so  long 
as  your  records  preserve  the  name  of  *  H.  M.  Thomp- 
son '  from  oblivion.)  I  thought  of  its  interests  at  the 
a'ea  Meeting  which  '  came  off'  this  week,  on  Tuesday 
eve,  after  some  postponement.  I  could  say  much  in 
commendation  of  it,  and  think  it  would  be  well  to  in- 
graft it  among  the  benevolent  schemes  of  which  New- 
England  is  so  fruitful.  Tables  were  prepared  in  the 
spacious  vestry  of  one  of  the  Methodist  Chapels,  for 
«bout  six  hundred  people,  and  they  were  well  filled. 
Fifty  ladies,  each  of  whom  supplied  her  division  of  the 
table,  had  the  oversight  and  courtesies  to  attend  to  — 
tea-pouring,  et  cetera.  By  an  arrangement  of  the  com- 
mittee, all  cakes  and  sweetmeats  were  contraband, and 
should  any  appear  upon  any  table,  it  was  immediately 
to  be  treated  as  such  —  consequently,  good  tea,  good 
bread  and  butter,  tea-crackers  and  cheese  were  abun- 
dant, and  invitingly  served  up.  Tlie  company  of  la- 
dies and  gentlemen  assembled  at  six  o'clock,  and  were 
seated  at  the  tables  ;  a  chapter  was  then  read  from  the 
Bible  by  the  Chairman  of  the  District,  followed  by  sing- 
ing, and  a  short  prayer,  when  tea  and  conversation 
were  animatingly  circulated.  This  over,  we  had  again 
singing  and  prayer,  then  addresses  from  several  clergy- 
men ;  and  before  ten  o'clock,  all  had  retired  to  their 

*  ThiB  13  an  association  of  ladies,  connected  with  the  Broinflcid 
street  Church,  Boston,  who  coHect  money,  and  nictt  to  sow,  for 
the  poor.  It  has  imparted  much  relief  and  comfort  to  the  destitute. 
The  first  Tea-Meeting  held  in  New-England,  was  held  by,  and  in 
behalf  of  this  society.  It  was  a  plain  and  simple  repast,  connected 
with  religious  services  and  addresses. 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


158 


homes.  Such  an  interview  would  be  well  adapted  to 
the  social  people  of  Boston,  and  I  should  like  to  have 
you  make  the  experiment  in  behalf  of  the  Friendly  So- 
ciety. The  tickets  were  readily  disposed  of,  at  half-a- 
doUar  each,  and  a  pretty  good  sum  thus  agreeably  raised 
f"*'"  a  worthy  design.  The  gayest  and  the  gravest 
seemed  to  be  enjoying  real  pleasure  from  a  socially  re- 
ligious source.  All  seemed  cheerful,  notwithstanding 
the  recent  sad  cause  of  the  postponement  of  the  occa- 
sion —  that  scourge  of  St.  John  —  the  devastating  firp, 
which,  in  a  few  brief  hours,  so  relentlessly  'licked  up'' 
the  fortunes  of  some  of  its  enterprising  citizens,  as  left 
too  melancholy  a  shade  of  feeling  upon  the  whole  com- 
munity, to  allow  them  to  participate  in  the  scene  of 
religious  festivity  which  was  to  be  offered  them  the 
next  day. 

"  I  thought  of  you  on  that  dreadful  night  as  I  gazed 
upon  the  painfully  sublime  scene  before  me  at  the 
window.  The  whole  surrounding  country  was  pre- 
sented in  fearful  light  and  shade  by  the  costly  glare ; 
the  clouds  and  water  gleamed  in  the  red  reflection,  the 
distant  trees  and  masts  appeared  as  if  edged  with  lines 
of  living  light,  while  the  desolating  flames  darted 
amid  the  huge  volume  of  smoke,  which  continually 
rolled  upward  from  the  devoted  spot.  Myriads  of 
sparks  and  blazing  fragments,  continually  ascending, 
were  borne  off  against  the  dark  blue  sky,  contrasting 
strangely  with  the  calm,  clear  stars  seen  through  them, 
as  they  again  slowly  descended  in  their  threatening 
showers.  I  thought  of  you  and  of  every  one  whom  I 
much  loved. 


154 


MEMOIR  OF  MRS. 


"Of  my  dear,  good  father  and  beloved  sister,  1 
have  said  but  little.  I  cannot  indite  a  message  of 
aflection  sufficiently  longing  for  them.  You  cannot 
conceive  with  what  tenderness  of  love  my  heart  turns 
towards  them,  across  the  space  which  must  ever  divide 
us.  To  yourself,  dear  Pamelia,  almost  my  sister,  I 
need  make  no  protestations  of  regard.  Please  remem- 
ber me  to  *  cousin '  Catharine.*  She  is,  I  am  sure, 
one  of  the  few  best  spirits  which  we  have. 

"  St.  John,  they  say,  is  a  cold  place,  and  so  I  am 
^beginning  to  think,  but  St.  John's  citizens  arc  a  warm- 
hearted folk,  as  I  have  from  the  beginning  felt.  Not 
an  eye  has  been  turned  upon  me  with  any  other  than 
a  kind  expression,  and  my  *  introductions '  have  almost 
invariably  been  accompanied  with  some  cordially 
worded  welcome  to  the  Province.  I  attribute  this  not 
to  any  liking  which  I  am  capable  of  inspiring,  but,  to 
what  I  shall  be  excused  for  saying  to  you,  the  very  high 
estimation  which  they  have  for  the  one  with  whom 
they  find  me." 

The  manner  of  her  reception  among  the  people  of 
the  Province  was  a  matter  that  interested  her  particular 
attention,  as  her  native  delicacy  led  her  to  shrink  from 
the  curious  eye  of  strangers,  and  especially  as  she  ap- 
prehended some  discomfort  from  the  natural  prejudice 


*  Miss  Catharine  Fatten,  eldest  daufrhter  of  Mr.  Thomas  Patten,  of 
Boston,  who  lias  now  joined  our  glorified  sister  in  the  world  of 
light  and  love.     "The  memory  of  the  just  is  blessed." 

"  Calm  on  the  bosom  of  thy  God, 
Sweet  spirit,  rest  thee  now." 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


155 


which  miglit  be  likely  to  exist  towards  an  "  American." 
But  prejudice,  from  the  first,  seemed  to  be  disarmed 
respecting  her.  This  was  owing  not  merely  to  her 
union  with  a  highly  esteemed  minister,  but  to  the 
intrinsic  excellences  of  her  mind  and  heart  —  the  sen- 
sibility and  genius,  the  unaflTected  humility,  the  disin- 
terested friendliness,  the  native  urbanity,  which  adorned 
her  character,  and  were  manifested  in  all  her  social 
intercouse. 

In  a  letter  to  her  sister,  dated  Nov.  29,  she  thus  <  e- 
Rcribes  her  impressions  relative  to  the  state  of  religious 
lociety. 


« 


With  the  economy  of  the  Methodist  societies  here 
I  am,  on  the  whole,  better  pleased  than  with  their  pres- 
ent Slate  and  regulations  in  New-England.  Of  course, 
every  thing  here  is  yet  new  to  me,  and  I  may  be  less 
pleased  when  knowing  more  of  the  system.  I  cannot 
afford  to  occupy  the  limited  space  remaining  to  me, 
with  a  detail  of  the  difference  between  the  two.  I 
think  Methodism  has  not  to  contest  its  way  to  a  rank 
with  other  denominations  as  in  the  states.  The 
'Church,'  of  course,  stands  alone,  in  lofty,  unyielding 
pre-eminence  above  all.  You  cannot  imagine  the  dis- 
tance which  divides  them.  One  would  never  suppose 
they  were  travellers  to  the  same  place ;  and  when  ar- 
riving at  the  end  of  life's  short  journey,  they  cannot 
even  make  their  graves  by  those  who  were  worshippers 
in  *  chapels.'  There  is  nothing  in  the  States  to  com- 
pare with  it.  In  the  Methodist  chapels  we  have  two 
services  on  the  Sabbath,  one  at  eleven  and  one  at  six 


156 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


o'clock.  I  do  not  know  how  much  the  time  may  vary 
from  yours.  I  think  it  is  about  twenty  minutes  earlier 
here  ;  so  I  always  suppose  us  as  going  to  church  or 
chape],  (no  one  speaks  of  going  to  church,  except  to 
the  '  Established  Church,')  together  in  the  morning. 
Last  evening  was  a  sacramental  occasion,  to  me  it  was 
most  interesting,  aside  from  the  delightful  emotions 
experienced  by  me  before  on  such  occasions ;  there  was 
something  to  my  mind  peculiarly  appropriate  and  solemn 
in  the  hour.  '  Now  when  the  even  was  come,  he  sat 
down  with  the  twelve,  and  as  they  did  eat,'  were  words 
presented  to  my  mind  ;  it  was  easy  to  send  the  thoughts 
back  to  that  night,  and  to  realize  its  wonderful  scenes." 

The  following  passages  from  her  journal  will  close 
the  chapter,  and  the  year,  and  will  leave  her  in  a  state 
of  earnest  longing  for  more  religion,  and  in  the  exercise 
of  active  zeal  to  do  good  to' her  fellow-men. 


'•  Nov.  30. — This  morning  I  would  bow  my  spirit 
down  in  humility  before  the  Lord.  '  The  Lord  gra- 
cious and  merciful,  forgiving  iniquity,  transgression  and 
sin,'  I  know  he  styles  himself;  but  O,  I  am  so  unwor- 
thy, have  allowed  my  heart  to  become  so  cold,  and  sin 
to  again  acquire  such  dominion  over  me,  that  I  can  only 
cry  before  Him,  *  unclean,  unclean.'  i^or  two  days 
past  my  mind  has  been  more  strongly  eicfrcised  with 
desires  to  be  wholly  consecrated  to  the  blenued  will  and 
service  of  God.  At  times  my  heart,  grat  ^ful  for  this 
renewed  invitation  of  his  slighted  grace,  has  gladly 
responded, '  I  will  be  Thine.    Here,  Lord,  I  jive  myself 


g^^ 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


157 


J) 


away  to  Thee  ; '  but  at  other  times  there  seems  to  be 
a  hanging  back  from  full  surrender.  I  desire  nothing 
on  earth  which  I  think  ever  would  be  in  opposition  to 
His  will,  but  yet  I  do  feel  that  I  am  not  wholly  His.  O, 
have  I  feared  to  see  an  enemy  within,  and  thus  per- 
formed a  careless  search  ?  or  do  T  really  cling  to  earthly 
good  ?  O  God,  do  show  me,  noi*  let  me  deceive  myself, 
or  seek  to  deceive  Thee.  Most  solemnly  would  I  now, 
in  true  sincerity,  approach  to  Thee.  Humbled  by  a 
consciousness  of  my  sinfulness,  I  own  myself  without 
a  shadow  of  claim  to  Thy  favor,  or  one  grace  to  ensure 
Thy  love.  I  deserve  only  Thy  righteous  displeasure, 
and  to  be  for  ever  cut  off  from  communion  with  Thee 
and  with  those  who  love  Thee.  I  am  indeed  a  wretch, 
but  Christ  has  died!  O,  in  this  name,  which  is  above 
every  name,  I  trust,  while  I  attempt  to  draw  near  to 
the  living  God,  and  covenant  for  His  grace. 

"  O  God,  I  have  seen  Thy  dealings  with  Thy  people, 
that  not  many  wise  or  mighty  are  called ;  that  the 
sacrifice  of  all  things  Thou  requiicst  freely  to  be  made 
for  Thy  sake ;  that  steadiness  of  self-denial  must  per- 
severingly  be  their  exercise.  And  I  know,  too,  the 
riches  of  grace  which  are  their  *  reward  in  secret '  from 
Thy  hand ;  I  have  tasted  Thy  goodness,  and  have  fol- 
lowed Thee  in  the  green  pastures,  and  by  the  still 
waters,  and  have  felt  there  the  light  of  Thy  counte- 
nance. These  have  I  known,  and,  therefore,  I  choose 
rather  to  '  suffer  affliction  with  the  people  of  God,  than 
to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  sin  for  a  season.'  O,  I  choose 
Christ  with  the  cross,  and  gladly  give  up  all  beside. 
Help  me,  while  I  subscribe  with  my  hand  to  the 
14 


> 


I  I    |i  lip  F'liVH 


158 


MEMOIR   OF  MRS. 


Almighty.  Only  aid  me  that  my  will  may  be  lost  in 
Thine ;  that  my  thoughts  and  words  may  be  in  obe- 
dience to  Thee ;  that  every  act  may  be  performed  as 
in  Thy  holy  presence,  and  with  strict  reference  to  Thy 
glory ;  that  this  desire  for  Thy  glory  may  at  all  times 
rule  and  reign  in  me ;  and  /  will  follow  Thee.  O 
these,  Thou  knowest,  are  not  idle  words  —  they  are 
from  Thy  Spirit,  and  I  must  meet  the  record  of  them 
before  Thy  Throne,  in  the  hour  of  my  judgment.  Great 
God,  be  Thou  my  helper.  Thou  hast  said,  *  Yea,  I 
will  help  thee.'  O,  may  I  not  now  claim  this  promise 
in  Christ  Jesus  ?     I  must,  I  do. 

*  Wash  me,  and  make  me  thus  Thine  own, 
Wash  me,  and  mine  Thou  art.' 

Even  now  I  am  not  without  some  beams  of  joy.  I 
do,  I  dare  believe.  I  do  feel  a  sweet  spirit  of  conse- 
cration now  resting  upon  me,  like  being  in  some  newly 
purified  atmosphere  ;  but  O,  I  almost  fear  to  move,  lest 
1  should  remove  from  this  sweet  state  —  lest  the  ap- 
pearance of  other  scenes,  and  returning  thoughts  of 
earth-born  interests,  should  drive  away  these  dove-like 
visits  of  the  Spirit.  '  Into  Thy  hands  I  command  my 
spirit.' 

"Sabbath,  Dec.  13. —  I  have  still  to  record,  O 
'  my  leanness !  my  leanness ! '  When  shall  I  be  faithful 
in  all  things  to  Him  who  gave  Himself  for  me  !  O 
how  ungrateful !  I  am  amazed  at  my  stupidity,  my 
want  of  love,  while  so  surrounded  with  His  rich  mer- 
cies. Surely  none  are  so  unworthy ;  none  so  little 
improve  the  grace  given.     Yet  shall  my  pen  record 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


159 


His  goodness.  He  has  borne  with  my  sinfulness ;  and, 
not  only  spares  a  life  which  brings  so  little  glory  to 
His  name,  but  he  has,  at  times,  visited  me  with  the 
sweet  peace-imparting  influences  of  His  Spirit.  O,  I 
long  to  love  Him  as  I  should  ;  I  long  to  serve  Him 
with  all  my  heart,  in  every  thought,  and  word  and  act 
Once  again  I  renew  my  covenant  with  God  to  do  His 
will,  and  to  seek  that  state  of  mind  in  which,  freed 
from  these  distressing  temptations,  I  shall  know  but 
one  desire  —  to  please  God  ;  but  one  fear,  the  fear  of 
offending  Him ;  but  one  trust,  a  trust  in  Jesus. 

"Dec.  15. —  My  heart  is  grateful  in  some  degree 
this  morning  for  the  blessings  of  God,  yet  this  is  but 
the  enkindling  of  an  emotion  which  should  for  ever 
live  and  glow  in  my  bosom.  In  all  my  daily  paths  I 
moot  with  those  who  seem  to  have  no  knowledge  of 
the  Savior,  and  no  desire  for  His  ways.  Iniquity  truly 
abounds,  and  this,  too,  at  a  season  when  men  should 
surely  learn  and  feel  their  dependence  upon  the  mercy 
of  one  who  supplies  the  needy.  Sin  finds  faithful  sub- 
jects among  those  who  are  friendless  and  destitute,  and 
who,  of  all  others,  need  the  consolations  of  communion 
with  God  —  the  one  who, 

'  above  all  others, 
Well  deserves  the  name  of  Friend.' 


O  would  that  I  could  do  something  to  relieve  the  wants 
of  those  wretched  beings  who  are  not  only  without 
earthly  comforts,  but  who  are  also  without  Christ ;  but 
ignorance  and  superstition  have  so  blinded  their  eyes  in 
many  instances,  tliat  it  is  hard,  indeed,  to  present  to 


-  iilf  ■!■«?>- r.^- jTlvTj-f  « 


,7-^ 


■*"  "CTr  ^^^*"»r  TV"  7^"!  "^^ 


160 


MEMOIR    OF   MBS. 


their  capacity  of  perception  the  glory  and  fitness  of  re- 
hgion.  May  God  enable  me  to  attempt  their  relief,  and 
to  persevere  in  efTorts  for  this,  and  to  Him  shall  be  the 
glory. 

"  Yesterday  I  visited  a  family  who  are  in  want  of 
almost  all  the  comforts  of  life,  but  who  are  yet  blessed 
daily  with  a  portion  of  the  bread  which  conieth  down 
from  Heaven.  Neatness,  peace  and  gratitude  seemed 
to  throw  a  smiling  aspect  even  upon  the  rough  walls 
of  their  only  apartment.  Gratitude  beamed  in  the 
eye  of  the  mother  as  she  spoke  of  the  goodness  of 
God  to  them.  Five  little  boys  were  around  her;  the 
eldest,  about  six  years  of  age,  as  I  entered  the  room, 
turned  to  the  window  and  stood,  occasionally  casting 
upon  me  a  diffident  smile.  I  extended  my  hand,  and 
coaxed  him  to  me  ;  his  little  brother  soon  joined  him, 
and  as  I  talked  to  them  a  moment  of  the  love  of  the 
Savior,  I  was  pleased  to  see  their  eyes  moistened  with 
tears.  Two  other  little  boys,  twins,  were  sitting  lov- 
ingly together,  and  the  youngest,  who  has  been  long 
sick,  was  in  his  mother's  arms.  It  was  poverty  without 
its  sting  —  sin.  'The  blessing  of  the  Lord  maketk 
rich,  and  He  addeth  no  sorrow  wiih  it.'  How  much 
less  happiness  may  sometimes  be  found  in  the  abodes 
where  wealth  pours  its  abundance.  Blessed  are  the 
poor,  who  have  a  right  by  faith  to  the  kingdom  of 
Heaven.  Blessed  are  the  rich  when  their  gold  is  laid 
upon  the  altar  which  sanctifieth  it,  and  their  hearts  are 
with  an  enduring  treasure  in  Heaven.  In  every  con- 
dition of  life  there  is  a  sting  —  in  all  it  is  the  same  — 
sin  —  sin  1     But  '  thanks  be  to  God  who  giveth  the 


HANNAH   M.   FICKARD. 


lei 


victory  through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.'  This  morning 
I  witnessed  a  different  scene — a  little  family  of  five, 
distressed  indeed  with  poverty,  but  where  a  want  of 
love  to  God  had  brought  all  other  evili  in  its  train. 
The  father,  a  wicked  man,  had  secretly  left  the  country, 
and  his  wife  and  four  infants  were  without  food  or 
clothing.  They  have  been  supplied  with  some  articles 
by  personj  who  understood  their  wants." 


14* 


£ 


162 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS, 


CHAPTER  X. 

Description  of  Fredericton.  Mrs.  Pickard's  visit  tliere.  Acci- 
cidcnt  in  returning.  Danger  from  fire.  Tlie  Indian  Basket 
Maker.  Anniversary  of  her  mother's  death.  Wesleyan  customs. 
Visit  to  Boston  and  Chelsea.  Conjugal  affection.  Fidelity  to 
duty.  Nestorian  Missionary  and  Bishop.  Various  extracts. 
Visit  of  Mr.  Pickard.  Reflections  on  his  return.  Birth  of  a 
Son.     Anniversary  of  her  marriage.     Return  to  St.  John. 


In  the  latter  part  of  January,  1842,  Mrs.  Pickard 
made  a  visit  with  her  husband  among  his  relatives  in 
Fredericton,  where  he  was  born.  Fredericton  is  the 
seat  of  government  of  the  province.  Here  the  As- 
sembly, the  Legislative  and  Executive  councils  meet, 
and  the  Governor  General  resides  —  his  house  most 
delightfully  situated  near  the  river,  and  a  little  above 
the  town.  This  is  also  the  residence  of  the  Bishop 
of  New-Brunswick,  lately  appointed  by  the  Queen. 
The  Episcopal  College  occupies  a  very  eligible  and 
conspicuous  location  on  the  side-hill  in  the  rear  of  the 
town,  which,  of  course,  it  overlooks,  as  also  the  river 
for  about  ten  miles  towards  St.  John.  The  Baptists 
have  also  a  literary  seminary.  There  is  a  flourishing 
Methodist  Society,  with  a  fine  chapel.  Beside  this,  the 
Roman  Catholics,  the  Episcopalians,  the  Presbyterians 
and  the  Baptists,  have  places  of  worship.     The  town 


QSfW!gp«i^?^'^"srw;{??- 


■I  V    . 


■  f 


HA5NAH    M.    PICKARD. 


163 


contains  about  three  thousand  inhabitants.  It  is  most 
charmingly  situated  on  ahnost  a  completely  semi-circu- 
lar bend  of  the  river  St.  John,  which  is  here  about  three 
quarters  of  a  mile  wide.  The  land  is  here  entirely  level, 
and  at  the  widest  point  extends  half  a  mile  from  the 
river  to  a  straight  range  of  hills,  which  seems  like  the 
chord  of  an  arc  drawn  across  from  one  end  of  the  seg- 
ment to  the  other,  a  mile  and  a  half  or  two  miles  in 
length.  The  streets  of  the  town,  mostly  macadamized 
and  of  good  breadth,  are  straight  and  laid  out  at  right 
angles.  The  soil  of  this  interval  or  plain  is  fertile,  and 
will  yield  abundantly  to  the  hand  of  judicious  cultiva- 
tion ;  and  the  hill-side  would  afford  magnificdnt  sites  for 
villas  and  gardens.  Fredericton  will  not  be  a  great 
place  for  trade  and  commerce,  but  it  must  be  a  charm- 
ing resort  for  men  of  wealth  and  taste,  who  will  lay 
out  expense  enough  to  adorn  a  situation  capable  of 
being  made  a  very  gem  of  oppidan  beauty.  It  is 
eighty-five  miles  distant  from  the  city  St.  John,  by  wa- 
ter, and  the  sail  up  and  down  the  river  is  .very  speedy 
and  pleasant,  in  the  good  steamers  which  ply  between 
the  two  ^vlaces.  The  ride,  too,  along  the  margin  of 
the  stream,  at  times  turning  off  into  the  wooded  coun- 
try, and  occasionally  rising  over  hills  commanding 
extensive  views  of  land  and  water,  is  enchanting  in 
the  season  of  rural  verdure.  The  journey  which  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Pickard  took,  was  performed  by  sleighing  in 
the  depth  of  winter. 

Mr.  Pickard,  after  attending  the  Missionary  meetings 
which  called  him  from  home,  returned  in  a  week  to 
his  duties  at  Portland,  leaving  Mrs.  Pickard  to  complete 


164 


MEMOIR  OP  MRS. 


her  visit,  which,  as  she  had  anticipated,  was  very 
agreeable  to  her,  as  she  met  with  a  cordial  and  affec- 
tionate reception  among  all  his  friends.  They  became 
endeared  to  her  remembrance,  as  she  also  did  to  theirs ; 
and  their  tender  sentiment  respecting  her  still  remains, 
though  the  loved  object  which  inspired  it  no  longer 
needs  nor  shares  its  kindly  influence.  On  her  return 
to  Portland,  she  experienced  a  narrow  escape  from 
imminent  danger  to  her  Ufe,  though  not  without  severe 
injury.  Her  account  of  this  journey,  as  also  of  a  sub- 
sequent instance  of  Providential  care,  will  be  found  in 
the  letter  below,  directed  to  her  sister.  The  reader 
will  not  be  displeased  with  the  incident  of  the  Indian 
woman,  related  particularly  for  her  sister's  children. 


I 


"Feb.  25,  1842.  Dear,  dear  Sister.— My  heart 
says,  O  that  I  could  see  you  this  afternoon  !  Always 
longing  for  this,  during  a  little  while  past  I  have  been 
almost  ready  to  take  wings,  and  fly  away  to  your  '  nest ' 
in  Chelsea ;  .but,  had  this  been  pratiicnble  at  the  best 
of  times,  while  the  desire  has  been  strongest  I  could 
not  make  the  attempt,  for  sickness  has  dipt  my  wings. 
Pain  and  inflammation  in  a  few  hours  brought  me  low, 
and  the  physician's  medicines  and  lancet  kept  me  so, 
until  now,  at  the  close  of  the  twelfth  day,  I  summon 
force  enough  to  commence  the  report  so  long  due. 
Well  knowing  the  wakefulness  of  your  sympathy  and 
forc'bod  .ig  anxiety,  I  am  happy  to  assure  you  that  I 
shall  doubtless  soon  be  wholly  recovered ;  so  dismiss 
all  fears  for  me,  and  I  will  tell  you  something  of  the 
cause  of  my  illness. 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


165 


"After  having  very  happily  passed- the  short  week 
allotted  for  our  visit  at  Fredericton,  Mr.  P.'s  duties 
her»  required  him  to  return,  but  I  tarried  behind. 
When  at  the  expiration  of  another  week  an  opportu- 
tunity  occurred  for  me  to  return,  under  the  conduct  of 
a  friend,  we  set  out,  six  in  all,  beside  the  driver.  For 
a  few  miles  we  had  good  sleighing,  and  came  on  very 
pleasantly,  but  the  snow  gradually  disappeared  with 
the  miles,  and  the  roads  being  very  bad,  we  had  soon 
to  exchange  our  comfortable  stage-sleigh,  for  a  large 
open  wagon,  into  which  we  were  packed  with  consid- 
erable baggage.  We  toiled  on  the  remaining  sixty 
miles,  over  icy,  precipitous  roads,  wild  as  nature  formed 
them,  while  here  and  there  a  small  log  house,  with  the 
blackened  stumps  and  soil  around  it,  or  perhaps  a  sol- 
itary cow  who  stood  considering  the  barren  scene,  was 
the  only  evidence  that  we  were  not  alone  in  all  the 
circuit  of  our  vision.  I  am  not  given  to  fear  when 
travelling,  but  I  confess  I  did  not  find  myself  free  from 
it  at  this  time.  Tilted  up  upon  the  middle  seat,  which 
was  elevated  above  its  level  by  a  huge  trunk  under- 
neath, and  supporting  my  constantly  shifting  centre  of 
gravity,  by  a  handkerchief  noo^d  about  the  front  seat, 
I  continually  cast  a  searching  glance  before  and  around 
the  wheels,  almost  giving  myself  up  to  the  probability 
of  a  launch  off  some  steep  descent,  or  among  the 
rocks  or  stumps  which  lay  beside  our  track.  But  as 
the  day  wore  away  I  became  more  accustomed  to  the 
new  situation,  and,  entertained  by  our  intelligent  trav- 
elling companions,  I  was  losing  my  fear,  when  suddenly 
the  horses  cleared  entirely  from  the  wagon,  through 


I 


M 


"/■  ■*yjil| 


166 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


some  failure  in  the  apparatus  which  secures  the  traces, 
and  the  wagon  instantly  rolled  off  a  side  hill,  and  upset 
among  some  logs  and  stumps.  All  were  thrown*  out 
but  myself.  I  was  thrown  across  the  front  seat  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  occasion  some  slight  internal  injury,* 
resulting  in  my  present  indisposition.  Kind  Provi- 
dence preserved  us,  and  none  were  seriously  injured, 
though  the  danger  appeared  to  be  imminent.  As  one 
by  one  the  company  picked  themselves  up,  and  came 
forward  to  our  somewhat  mutilated  vehicle,  we  pre- 
sented rather  a  forlorn  aspect ;  we  could  not  find  much 
remembrance  of  the  moment  —  I  only  know  that  I 
involuntarily  clung  to  the  wreck. 

"  No  help  could  be  obtained  to  repair  the  wagon,  or 
to  procure  other  conveyance ;  so,  carefully  and  trem- 
blingly we  took  the  only  alternative,  and  bestowed 
ourselves  upon  our  seats,  and,  with  new  apprehension 
came  slowly  on  our  way,  watching  one  of  the  forward 
wheels  which  rolled,  like  a  drunken  man,  on  its  axis. 
My  fright  was  so  great,  that  I  was  not,  at  the  time, 
aware  of  any  pain  or  injury,  although  a  little  after 
conscious  of  faintness,  which  I  attributed  then  to  fear. 
You  would  have  been  amused  at  my  nervous  folly  du- 
ring the  few  miles  remaining  —  I  could  not  throw  it  off 
although  I  was  ashamed.  When  we  came  to  the 
Ferry,  which  separated  us  from  the  city,  the  steamer 
was  aground  ;  therefore  we  must  wait  until  nine  or  ten 
in  the  evening,  or  leave  uur  baggage  and  cross  in  a 


*  The  injury  wliich  she  represents  as  slight,  was  greater  than 
she  allowed,  as  her  husband  thinks  it  probable  that  she  never  fully 
recovered  from  it. 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


167 


small  boat.  All  seemed  to  prefer  this,  so  I,  being  the 
only  lady,  said  nothing,  but  followed.  The  last  rays 
of  twilight  were  just  lingering  on  the  wide,  dark  wa- 
ters ;  and  as  I  stood  upon  the  landing,  and  looked 
down  a  steep  flight  of  some  twenty  steps,  to  the  little 
boat,  scarcely  distinguishable,  I  made  a  sudden  halt. 
Our  Dr.  G.  whose  arm  I  had,  looked  at  me  n  sur- 
prise — '  Can  you  swim,  Dr.? '  I  asked.  I  felt  ashamed, 
and  he  laughed  at  the  explanation  which  my  question 
gave.  A  poor  little  Irish  girl,  in  a  calico  dress,  and 
small  cotton  shawl,  who  had  just  stepped  up,  wishing  to 
cross  with  us,  looked  up  very  composedly,  and  said  it 
would  be  a  '  cold  night  to  be  upset.'  To  gain  the 
stairs  of  the  opposite  landing  we  had  to  pass  close 
under  the  bow  of  a  steamboat  moored,  whose  ma- 
chinery clinked  sharply  as  we  rowed  across  its  shadow, 
keeping  my  heart  in  lively  motion.  Truly  thankful 
was  I,  and  found  it  pleasure  enough  for  the  moment, 
when,  standing  on  the  wharf,  I  fully  realized  that  I 
was  neither  in  a  skimming-boat  nor  a  wagon  tottering 
to  its  fall.  No  carriage  was  to  be  obtained  ;  so,  bur- 
thened  with  clothes,  and  trembUng  with  excitement,  I 
made  my  way  towards  home,  where,  after  a  long  walk, 
I  found  a  hearty  welcome,  and  dropped  down  into  the 
rocking  chair  awaiting  me  before  a  ch<  i.rful  fire,  to 
relate  the  tale  of  my  adventures  while  the  thoughtfully 
ordered  coffee  was  preparing." 


Her  husband  stat(  ■  ihat  she  "  was  reluctant  to  ac- 
knowledge that  she  had  suffered  sc;  ously,  either  frorr. 
fatigue,  accident,  or  exposure,  and  succeeded  in  keep- 


168 


MEMOIR   OF  MRS. 


ing  up  and  attending  to  her  ordinary  duties  three  or 
four  days.  She  then  became  very  serloisly  ill,  but 
was  saved  frosii  the  ill  consequences  w'ticji,  for  a  '.iine, 
were  feared  hy  her  medical  attendant,  urU  j  on  so  far 
recovevf d  as  to  be  able  to  attend  with  apparPiU  cm- 
fort  to  her  doiuestic  concerns.  In  the  course  of  her 
sickness  she  wtv^  providentially  preserved  >'fom  destruc- 
tion by  fire." 

•' Having  escapcf''  the  wator,"  she  «ayH,  "I  was  weR 
nifrh  deritroyed  by  fire.  Awaking  one  nighJt  almo.><.  auf- 
focated  vvitJi  smoke,  1  started  up,  and  threw  open  the 
bid  Ci'  iiiC3,aijd  discovered  that  a  flannel  bag  of  heated 
hojv^  ind  br«n,  which  the  nurse  had  placed  at  my  side 
in  sise  even!  ig,  (and  in  which,  probably,  a  spark  had 
^;ecrotly  lodged,)  was  burned  to  cinders.  The  snioke 
rose  thick  and  high  from  the  burning  bed  and  clothes ; 
my  own  clothes  also  were  very  much  burned.  I  im- 
mediately drew  the  counterpane  and  blankets  from 
every  corner,  and,  pressing  them  down  about  myself 
and  my  warm  neighborhood,  called  loudly  for  help. 
The  nurse,  who  was  with  me,  was  so  stupefied  that  it 
seemed  long  before  she  could  be  made  to  comprehend 
that  there  ivas  fire  in  the  bed,  and  that  I  was  not 
dreaming.  Mr.  P.  hearing  the  bustle  above  stairs,  and 
perceiving  the  smoke,  came  to  our  aid,  and  succeeded 
in  extinguishing  ihe  fire,  though  it  was  long  after  order 
was  restored,  that  composure  so  subdued  our  agitated 
nerves,  as  to  allow  us  to  sleep. 

"  I  do  wish  I  could  once  more  seo  Edward  and 
Francis  —  I  could  give  them  a  hug  n  ".s  ]  *i  kiss  not  to 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


169 


ted 

nd 
to 


be  forgotten  in  an  hour.  Tell  me  something  in  your 
next  about  them ;  some  word  they  must  each  send  to 
me.  I  was  thinking  of  Edward  the  other  day,  when 
I  had  some  visiters  whom  he  would  have  been  pleased 
to  see.  I  imagine  him  now  standing  by  you,  perhaps 
old  Franky  too,  while  I  tell  them  something  about  it. 
It  had  rained  all  night,  and  was  raining  all  the  forenoon 
with  great  drops  thick  and  fast,  so  that  the  streets  were 
full  of  mud  and  water,  and  scarcely  any  body  could  be 
out.  I  was  sitting  alone,  sewing  by  the  fire,  when  I 
heard  some  heavy  steps  upon  the  gravel-walk  in  our 
yard,  then  upon  the  steps  leading  to  the  door,  and  then 
a  loud  knock.  I  went  to  the  door,  and  there  stood  a 
poor  Indian  woman  with  her  pappoose — a  little  girl 
seven  or  eight  years  old  —  and  an  equally  privileged 
dog.  They  were  drenched  with  rain,  and  the  woman's 
long,  black  hair  hung  in  stiff,  wet  locks  upon  her 
shoulders.  Upon  her  back  she  had  fastened  a  huge 
bundle  of  baskets.  *How  do  you,  sister  V  said  she 
cheerfully  to  me,  as  I  opened  the  door — 'buy  any 
basket  ?  some  very  good  one.  You  see  me,  sister,  me 
poor  Indian,  me  come  great  way  just  now,  me  got  no 
breakfast,  sold  no  basket  to-day.  Buy  some,  sister  ? ' 
'Well  come  in,  sister,'  said  I,  'and  dry  yourself,  and 
eat  something,  and  I  will  look  at  your  baskets.' 
So,  turning  sideways  to  accommodate  her  pack  to 
the  door,  she  followed  me  into  the  kitchen,  and  side 
by  side  the  three  travelling  companions  seated  them- 
selves. Vi  Sen  I  had  purchased  some  baskets,  and 
given  th:^m  some  food,  and  they  were  getting  comfort- 
ably dry,  I  icand  her  very  chatty,  and  we  became  good 
15 


■'  VTT'  .*i>v."''; " -' ■.,•" .  f  -.r^  ■ 


,  ir.v^.t'rr.'.trv'^'-'f'^  '7«»Tj!nTn»^!r^r 


170 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


friends.  She  told  me  where  her  camp  was,  (about 
twelve  miles  distant,)  that  her  Sanap  had  been  dead 
about  seven  winters,  that  she  lived  alone  by  the  side 
of  the  river,  and  made  baskets.  She  seemed  quite 
anxious  to  know  how  she  could  get  to  Boston,  when 
I  told  her,  if  she  were  there,  she  could  sell  all  her 
baskets  in  an  hour.  She  was  very  intelligent,  honest- 
looking,  and  had  such  a  pleasant,  yet  sad  tone  of 
voice,  that  my  heart  pitied  her.  She  appeared  to 
be  a  strict  Catholic,  and  very  regardful  of  the  truth. 
She  asked  how  many  hours  it  would  be  before  the  sun 
would  set.  I  told  her ;  she  shook  her  head,  tied  on 
her  blanket,  and  gathering  up  her  remaining  high-col- 
ored baskets,  again  set  oft'  in  the  storm,  accompanied 
by  my  good  wishes." 

The  anniversary  of  her  mother's  death,  which  oc- 
curred on  the  18th  of  March,  she  noticed  in  a  letter 
to  her  sister,  from  which  a  few  extracts  are  here  pre- 
sented. 


"  I  cannot  resist  the  earnest  impulse  of  my  heart  to 
address  some  words  to  you,  significant  of  my  remem- 
brance of  you  all  on  this  sad,  yet  painfully  pleasing 
anniversary.  I  know  by  *  the  deep  communion  of  my 
soul  with  thine,'  that  you  are  ♦hinking  of  me  to-day  ; 
and  that,  while  for  a  moment  the  last  eventful  year 
seems  forgotten.  Father,  and  you,  and  I,  are  once 
again  by  her  form  which  was  at  this  time,  one  year 
ago,  fast  growing  cold  in  death.  O,  Emma,  I  feel 
again  the  anguish  of  that  scene,  and  can  scarcely  be 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


171 


reconciled  to  the  conviction  that  never  more  are  we 
to  meet  her,  until  the  same  fearful  change  has  come 
upon  us.  We  each  think  alike  about  it,  and  know 
that  *  all  is  well '  with  her.  I  am  ashamed  of  a  tear 
or  regret  at  her  happy  release.  But  O,  how  often, 
daily,  when  sitting  here  alone,  her  image  comes  before 
me,  with  some  familiar  words  or  manner,  and  I  begin 
in  an  instant  to  enjoy  it.  O,  the  thought  that  she  is 
gone,  is  very  painful.  Were  she  living  now,  I  often 
think  how  I  should  hasten  to  her.  Some  one  has  said, 
that  although  the  dead  are  removed  from  our  kind 
offices,  we  may  not  be  from  theirs.  I  always  love  to 
think  that  she  knows  our  circumstances,  and  that  we 
still  share  her  sympathy,  perhaps  her  aid.  Yet  it  is 
but  '  for  a  season '  that  we  survive  ;  a  short  time  and 
oil  will  be  passed  with  us  also.  Gathered  to  the  dead, 
shall  we  be  admitted  to  the  company  of  those  who  die 
no  more  ?  Let  us  use  the  present  moment  ariglii,  and 
improve  the  grace  already  given.  1  do  not  feel  thui  I 
have  by  any  means  derived  the  benefit  irom  her  deatu, 
which  was  designed  for  me.  I  am  humbled  by  the 
thought,  and  have  been  observing  this  as  a  day  of  fast- 
ing. I  saw  the  need  of  this  particularly,  and  hope, 
should  I  see  another  anniversary,  to  have,  ere  that, 
reaped  more  profit  unto  '  life  eternal.'  I  hope  in  view 
of  their  uncertainty,  as  well  as  the  worth  of  the  bless- 
ings which  remain  to  me,  that  I  shall  prize  the.  .  e 
and  more. 

"  I  am  alone  this  evening,  (Friday,  25th,)  as  H.  is 
at  meeting.  It  is  '  Good  Friday,'  and  universally  ob- 
served here.     Of  course,  by  the  Catholics  and  the 


172 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


Church-folk,  it  is  regarded  as  in  the  States,  orly  with 
more  strictness.  All  stores  are  closed,  an'  business 
suspend*  '.\  r.  .<)  -r^'gious  exercises  are  held  as  on  the 
Sabh  .rJj.  '^•'1  (  Jethodists  are  very  careful  in  the  ob- 
servance of  it.  I  heard  a  sermon  this  morning  in 
one  of  our  chapels,  on  Isaiah,  53d  chapter,  first  phrase 
of  the  11th  verse.  This  afternoon  we  met  in  Love 
Feast.  It  has  been  r>  F  >  -^uy,  and  seemed  so  like 
the  Sabbath,  that  I  could  scarcely  realize  that  the 
friends  at  home  were  pursuing  their  ordinary  em- 
ployments. I  am  pleased  with  the  practice,  and  also 
much  pleased  with  some  others  attended  to  by  the 
Wesleyans  here,  which  seemed  not  to  have  been 
adopted,  or  to  have  been  discontinued,  in  our  societies. 
On  New  Year's  day,  for  instance,  the  members  of 
society  always  meet  in  the  chapels,  w!ien,  after  appro- 
priate singing  and  prayer,  the  '  covenant '  is  repd.  Tliis 
is  contained  in  a  few  pages,  and  presents  dehnitely  all 
the  great  responsibilities  of  the  members,  their  duties, 
dangers  and  rewards.  It  was  written  at  the  com- 
mencement of  Methodism  .nd  is  venerable  from  its 
age  and  author,  and  truly  awful  from  its  deep  solemnity. 
After  the  reading,  a  few  moments  are  spent  by  the 
audience  upon  their  kn<  es  in  silent  prayer,  and  then 
they  arc  called  upon  to  jiledge  themselves  anew.  The 
hymn  commencing, 

'  Come  let  us  use  the  grace  divine,' 

or  part  of  it.  is  sung  ind  .  len  the  sacrament  is  admin- 
istered—  the^'ho!'       rvi'C  occupies  about  two  hours. 
"I  thank  you  most  ct  dially,  my  good  sister,  foF 


ilAJN.VAH    M.    PICKARD. 


173 


your  kind  letter.  I  had  been  looking  for  it  several 
days,  and  thinking  the  time  very  long  in  which  I  had 
not  heard  from  you.  Every  month  it  seems  longer  and 
longer ;  such  intervals  are  beginning  to  make  me  home- 
sick. While  the  sun  is  shining  upon  us  both,  let  us 
not  forget  each  other.  Nothing  of  special  interest  has 
occurred  with  us  since  I  last  wrote  to  you.  My  health 
is  now  almost  as  good  as  before  my  Fredericton  trip, 
although  the  local  [)ain  of  my  illness  still  follows 
me,  and  almost  precludes  comfortable  attention  to 
your  recommendation  of  daily  or  frequent  out-door 
exercise. 

*'  Give  my  love  to  Mrs.  Otheman,  I  will  drink  to  her 
health  and  comfort  my  cup  of  cocoa  to-night.  Much 
love  to  Edward  and  Franky,  I  often  remember  them  in 
my  prayers.  Give  much  love  to  Catharine  and  Pamelia. 
Give  a  great  deal  of  love  to  my  dear  father.  I  send 
love  to  him  and  n  .other,  hoping  she  is  well  and  happy." 

In  the  month  of  May,  according  to  previous  ar- 
rangement, she  made  a  visit  to  Boston,  and  spent  the 
summer  in  my  family,  at  Chelsea.  She  looked  forward 
to  this  visit  with  much  anticipation  of  pleasure,  and 
seemed  to  enjoy  it  exceedingly,  with  only  one  regret  — 
the  necessary  absence  of  li  r  husband.  In  reference 
to  her  contemplated  visit  she  wrote  on  Ihc^  7th  of  May, 
as  follows : 


"I  am  tills  week  t  )  return  for  a  season  to  my  early 
friends.     Pleasures,  such  as  are  only  to  be  found  in 
such  society,  promise  happiness  —  but  I  am  to  leave 
15* 


174 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


-  V 


. 


the  one  who  is  dearer  to  me  than  all  other  friends.  O 
could  he  be  with  me  there  to  enjoy  those  pleasures, 
they  would  be  a  thousand  times  more  sweet.  But,  O, 
I  do,  I  will  give  myself  to*  the  Faithful  and  True 
Friend,  and  be  safe  with  Him." 

She  arrived  in  Chelsea,  Friday,  the  14th  day  of 
May,  and  was  enchanted  with  the  contrast  which  the 
vernal  season  presented  here,  to  the  aspect  of  nature 
in  New  Brunswick,  when  she  left.  There  the  trees 
were  scarcely  bursting  their  leaf-buds,  and  the  grass 
but  turning  partially  green.  Here  the  very  hill-tops 
were  covered  with  verdure  ;  lilacs,  tulips  and  crocuses 
were  blown,  and  pear  and  apple  trees  in  full  bloom — 
the  peach,  plum  and  cherry  having  already  shed  their 
earlier  blossoms.  The  soft  warm  air,  was  peculiarly 
delightful,  after  experiencing  the  cold  winds  of  the 
east,  and  the  chilling  breezes  of  the  sea ;  and  the 
scene  appeared  for  the  time,  like  an  Eden  of  rural 
beauty.  Her  affectionate  nature  was  also  gratified 
with  the  sight  and  society  of  her  beloved  friends  once 
more,  and  we  eagerly  rejoiced  in  the  privilege  of  hav- 
ing her  once  again  among  us.  Would  that  the  joys  of 
earthly  friendship,  the  pleasure  of  friendly  meetings, 
e'er  could  last ;  but  this  is  not  the  land  or  the  clime 
for  perennial  bliss.  The  yearnings  of  pure  affection, 
so  often  disappointed  and  unsatisfied  here,  will  be 
completely  and  for  ever  satisfied  in  that  world  where 
'all  the  air  is  love,'  and  partings  are  unknown. 

"The  sadness  of  tliis  aching  love 
Dims  not  our  Father's  house  above." 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


175 


On  the  Sabbath  following  her  arrival,  she  wrote ; 

"  This  is  my  first  Sabbath  in  New-England,  after 
my  interesting  absence.  With  gratitude  to  Him  who 
controls  the  elements,  and  orders  and  defends  our  steps, 
I  would  anew  inscribe  myself  as  His.  O  keep  me 
Thine  through  these  days." 


On  the  first  Sabbath  in  June,  she  wrote  again  ; 

"  The  first  of  summer's  Sabbaths  is  again  here. 
How  beautiful  is  every  thing  around  —  the  sky,  the 
earth,  the  sea,  all  testify  the  goodness  of  God.  He  is 
Himself  in  all  these  glorious  objects,  and  the  wonders 
of  His  skill  are  visible  where'er  we  turn  our  gaze.  O, 
what  a  blessing  to  live  !  —  to  live  in  a  world  blessed 
by  His  presence,  and  doubly  blessed  to  those  who, 
taught  by  His  spirit,  can  trace  manifestations  of  His 
mercy  engraven  upon  the  page  of  nature,  and,  looking 
within,  can  read  upon  a  heart  redeemed  from  sin,  and 
pardoned  freely,  those  brighter,  more  sacred,  more  en- 
dearing evidences  of  the  mercy  which  once  stooped  so 
low,  to  raise  so  high,  a  worm,  a  child  of  earth !  To 
Him  who  gave  my  being,  will  I  now  give  again  my 
heart,  and,  trusting  all  to  Him,  care  only  to  pleas 
and  be  accepted  of  Him.  My  dearest  husband  I  give 
to  Him.  O  direct  his  steps,  Thou  who  hast  given 
him  his  commission,  and  keep  in  love  and  faith  the 
servant  Thou  hast  called,  nor  let  him  ever  turn  from 
Thee." 

The  following  extracts  from  a  letter  written  to  Mr. 
Pickard  about  this  time,  will  reveal  to  us  something  of 


176 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


the  tender  and  sacred  sentiment  with  which,  as  a  wife, 
her  heart  was  animated,  as  also  the  fidehty  of  her  im- 
pulses to  the  supreme  claims  of  duty,  and  the  ardor  of 
hope  with  which  she  encouraged  her  husband  in  the 
responsible  and  holy  work  of  the  Christian  ministry. 
The  notices  of  the  Nestorian  Bishop  and  the  mission- 
ary, Rev.  Mr.  Perkins,  though  they  embrace  what  may 
be  familiar  to  many  readers,  will  serve  to  rekindle  the 
agreeable  interest  which  was  so  generally  felt  by  the 
American  community,  while  these  individuals  sojourned 
and  discoursed  among  us. 


"  My  dearest  H.  —  So  many  days  have  passed  since 
I  had  any  visible  and  outward  correspondence  with 
you,  that  I  cannot  refuse  myself  the  gratification  offered 
me  by  the  silent  converse  of  spirit  with  which  '  thought 
holds  the  distant  friend,'  while  the  pen  is  employed 
with  the  simple  symbols.  And  yet  how  poor  are  words, 
txnd  how  meagrely  do  they  sometimes  convey  those 
sentiments  which  the  heart  feels  and  forms,  and  whi  ;h  it 
alone  can  comprehend,  though  it  cannot  utter.  Chosen 
of  all  friends,  and  prized  above  them  all,  happy  am  I 
to  feel  you  so,  and  happy  for  the  *  uniting  tie '  which, 
removing  formal  constraint,  allows  me  the  pleasure  of 
the  sweet  confession,  by  securing  to  mo  both  the  duty 
and  tfie  privilege  of  loving  you  more  flmn  all.  How 
often  and  vainly  do  I  repeat  the  wish  that  you  "Cie 
here,  and  as  often  am  I  compelled  to  banish  the  thought, 
because  ^ 

'  The  dear  delight  seems  so  to  be  desired,' 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


177 


that  were  I  to  admit  it  long,  I  might  become  almost 
discontented,  even  in  the  '  honey-moon  '  of  my  visit  to 
these  friends.  O,  to  add  your  presence  to  the  store 
now,  would  be  to  make  it  much  too  large  — too  large 
for  long  duration.  That  we  may  contemplate  such  an 
hour  of  meeting,  after  a  time  at  least,  T  think  and  hope 
about,  until,  frequently,  the  days  which  intervene  are 
almost  forgotten.  That  I  have,  and  shall  continue  to 
have,  your  affectionate  sympathy,  is  one  of  my  first 
earthly  comforts,  and  that  I  do,  and  shall,  retain  devout 
remembrance  in  your  prayers,  is  my  first  earthly  de- 
pendence, if  earthly  it  may  be  termed. 

"  After  the  day  or  two  in  v.hich  I  was  recovering 
from  the  effects  of  sea-sickness'  my  health  was  very 
comfortable,  better  than  it  had  been  for  some  weeks 
before ;  but  near  the  close  of  last  week,  I  was  quite 
suddenly  attacked  with  illness,  very  similar  to  the  ill 
turn  which  I  had  in  St.  John,  after  my  journey.  We 
could  not  account  for  the  recurrence,  as  I  assure  you  I 
had  been  careful.  During  Saturday  and  Sabbath,  I 
suffered  so  much  from  fever  and  inflammation,  that  I 
feared  I  should  not  soon  recover ;  but  supplies  of  laud- 
anum, dover-powders,  nitre,  etc.,  with  the  best  of  nurs- 
ing, have  contributed  to  make  me  almost  well.  Now 
that  I  can  write  to  you  again,  I  shaW  feel  myself  quite  so. 

"  The  morning  is  pleasant,  and  the  scenery  abroad 
delightful.  Chelsea  is  a  charming  place,  and  constant- 
ly improving.  It  is  occupied  by  the  residences  of  gen- 
tlemen who  are  transacting  business  in  the  city,  and 
prefer  to  leave  their  families  to  the  enjoyment  of  their 
gardens  and  hill-sides ;  yet  so  connected  with  the  city 


178 


MEMOIR   OF  MRS. 


as  to  secure  all  its  advantages.  The  Methodist  Society 
here  is  thus  furnished  with  the  services  of  some  of  its 
most  efficient  and  promising  members.  It  is  at  pres- 
ent, as  it  has  been  during  the  greater  part  of  the  win- 
ter, favored  with  an  encouraging  spirit  of  revival.  They 
have  a  very  neat,  new  Chapel,  to  which,  by  the  way, 
there  are  many  thoughts  among  a  circZc  of  the  members 
of  inviting  you,  I  find  they  are  half  ready,  in  New- 
Englandj  to  claim  you  on  more  than  one  account. 
They  seem  to  '  calculate '  upon  your  coming  among 
them,  I  find,  though  Dot  from  any  encouragement  or 
word  received  from  me.  Whatever  may  be  my  private 
feelings,  my  lips,  I  am  purposed,  shall  not  transgress  in 
this  matter.  Far  be  it  from  me !  I  would  not,  if  I 
could,  withdraw  one  glance  of  yours  from  the  strait 
and  narrow  way  of  duty.  Time  is  short,  and  it  remains 
that  all  these  enjoyments,  and  the  plans  of  life,  be  to 
us,  particularly,  who  are  given  more  emphatically  and 
singly  to  the  service  of  the  Church,  as  though  they 
ivere  not.  To  be  imbued,  invested  with  the  Holy 
Spirit,  I  know,  \feel,  is  the  only  preparation,  and  will 
be  the  highest  gratification,  which  we  should  seek.  I 
think  of  you  much,  and  have  great  pleasure  in  com- 
mending you  to  '  care  divine.'  Next  Monday,  I  think, 
is  to  be  with  you  a  day  of  almost  unprecedented  inter- 
est ;  I  can  but  constantly  think  of  you,  and  be  encour- 
aged. Indeed,  I  wonder  that  you  should  ever  yield  so 
long,  as  sometimes  you  have  done,  to  despondency, 
when  so  evidently  a  chosen  instrument  of  God,  favored 
with  the  promised  agency  of  His  Spirit  D,  look  up- 
ward a  little,  and  just  beyond  us,  when  he  who  has 


:^ 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


179 


been  faithful  in  little,  shall  enter  into  the  possession 
of  that  sphere  of  usefulness  and  bliss  so  much  enlarged 
and  glorified.     I  am  happy /or  you. 

"  This  has  been  the  week  of  Religious  Anniversaries 
in  Boston.  I  had  hoped  to  be  able  to  attend  them, 
but  was  prevented  by  the  illness  to  which  I  have  allud- 
ed —  a  disappointment  for  which  I  attempted  and 
secured  some  amends,  by  as  carefully  as  might  be 
attending  the  last  meeting  ■ —  the  anniversary  of  the 
American  Board  of  Commissioners  for  Foreign  Mis- 
sions. There  were  addresses  from  the  elite  of  all  the 
denomination ;  and  the  Nestorian  Bishop,  and  Mr. 
Perkins,  Missionary  to  the  Nestorians,  each  took  part 
in  the  exercises.  I  wish  you  could  have  been  there  ! 
I  was  so  desirous  of  keeping  every  choice  thought  and 
incident  for  you,  that  somehow  they  sadly  jostled  upon 
each  other.  Yet  if  I  can  have  time  this  morning,  before 
Mr.  O.  calls  for  the  letter,  I  will  give  you  what  I  can. 

"  After  some  eloquent  addresses,  Mr.  Perkins  arose, 
and  gave  a  brief  statement  of  the  affairs  and  prospects 
of  the  mission.  Eight  years  ago,  he  said,  they  present- 
ed the  appearance  of  an  ansightly  corpse,  having  lost 
every  spark  of  vitality  infus^sd  by  the  Apostles  into  the 
the  form  of  Christianity,  which  they  still  retained.  He 
sweetly  recognised  the  hand  of  God  in  their  defence 
thus  far,  and  based  all  his  future  hope  on  this  —  tracing 
in  the  present  improvement  of  the  times,  in  the  in- 
crease of  English  influence  in  Persia,  and  in  the  adop- 
tion of  English  customs,  another  branch  of  the  opera- 
tions of  the  Spirit  of  God.  He  said  that  this  gi'ound 
of  his  confidence  was  first  discovered  by  an  »i8»ly  visit 
from  the  Prince  of  Persia,  who  visited  their  school,  then 


'.-*5 


180 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


a  novelty  in  the  Empire,  and  who  was  so  gratified,  as 
to  issue  a  firman  for  the  welfare  and  protection  of  th  se 
*  holy  strangers,'  who  had  come  from  the  New  World, 
for  the  benefit  of  his  people,  ordering  a  guard  of  sol- 
diers for  their  defence.*  He  related  some  thrilling 
incidents  —  one,  that  while  on  a  visit  to  one  of  their 
schools,  he  and  two  others  were  attacked  by  some  ruf- 
fians, opposed  to  their  object,  one  of  whom  drew  a 
dagger  upon  Mr.  P.,  but  he  escaped  from  ♦he  deadli- 
ness  o^  the  aim,  by  a  slip  of  his  foot,  though  the  dagger 
per  vtrated  his  clothes,  and  left  a  wound  in  his  flesh. 
Pursued,  they  fled  into  a  house  ;  and  he  added,  he 
never  felt  a  calmer  reliance  upon  the  care  of  God  than 
at  that  moment,  as  he  saw,  in  the  incident,  the  pres- 
ence of  Him  who  said  to  the  point  of  the  steel,  '  Thus 
far,  and  no  farther.'  It  just  served  for  the  conviction 
of  the  villain,  whose  arrest  alarmed  and  subdued  the 
people  to  their  influence.  The  Bishop  is  most  venera- 
ble in  appearance,  though  in  middle  age,  and  has  a 
most  benign  expret;sion  o^  countenance,  to  which  his 
long,  coal-black  beard,  and  dress  of  black  silk,  give 
much  effect.  He  rose  with  hesitancy,  and,  with  great 
difficulty,  addressed  us  a  fev/  moments  in  English.  He 
said,  '  He  travel  much,  he  like  our  great,  beautiful 
country  much,  he  see  almost  all  good  folk,  few  bad  (?)  : 
he  wish  us  to  remember  the  scriptures  speak  if  Caper- 

*  It  18  strange  that  those  who  profess  to  be  Christians,  and  who, 
certainly,  could  object  notlii no  to  the  niori.l  and  Christian  influence 
of  this  American  Mission,  should  have  been  less  generous,  and  less 
regardful  of  the  welfare  of  the  Missi(»'i.  than  the  heathen  Prince  of 
Persia.  What  spirit  of  darkness  is  it,  which  led  the  Puseyite  con- 
federates in  Mosul,  to  embarrass  and  interrupt  the  missionaries  iu 
the??  ardu  U8  and  blessed  work? 


/ 


KANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


181 


k 


naum ;  we  '  must,  will  be  humble,'  etc.  He  said,  •  long 
time  ago,  their  people  great,  l  tnd  missionaries  through 
Asia,  good,  knew  God  ;  but  now,  like  the  foolish  vir- 
gins, their  lamps  gone  out' — then  extending  his  hands 
imploringly,  said,  '  Give  us  of  your  oil/  The  effect 
was  overwhelming ;  and  the  people  seemed  to  separate 
with  new  zeal,  by  reason  of  this  appeal  from  one  who 
had  suffered  much  for  the  Cross  of  Christ.  He  was 
once  bastinadoed,  hut  seems  to  be  ready  for  his  return 
with  new  courage." 

.  Some  other  portions  of  her  correspondence  with  her 
husband  during  this  visit,  as  also  a  few  private  records, 
will  be  presented,  which  exhibit  the  characteristics  of 
her  mind  and  heart  unchanged,  and  lead  us  to  admire 
the  grace  of  God  in  her,  and  her  maturing  Christian 
virtues. 


"June  9.  —  My  ever  dear  husband.  I  am  feehng 
poorly  to-night,  too  much  so  to  write  any  thing  which 
I  can  esteem  good  enough  for  you.  The  bed  which  I 
have  just  deserted,  is  not  now  uninviting,  and  Emma, 
my  kind,  beloved  sister,  is  summoning  me  to  join  her 
in  the  next  apartment ;  but  the  thought  of  spending  a 
little  time  with  you  in  '  fancy's  bright  domain,'  is  so 
swt  et  to  me,  that  I  gladly  resist  other  offers  of  pleas- 
ure. The  day  has  been  a  gloomy  one  —  east  winds 
and  mists,  and  driving  rains  have  succeeded  in  making 
it  sufficiently  so ;  but  now  as  the  sun  goes  to  its  setting, 
the  west  wind  prevails  against  them,  and  I  wish  you 
could  be  here  with  me,  that  we  might  enjoy  together 
16 


■mf-: 


niijm  wiiijilpn    1.^ 


\,  ' 


"-■/•■. 


182 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


the  surpassing  beauty  of  the  moment's  scene.  I  would 
not,  if  I  could,  command  the  noveHst's  style,  and  wea- 
ry you  with  descriptions  of  oui-door  matters,  when  I 
would  so  much  prefer  that,  instead  of  the  beautiful  hills 
and  tasteful  cottages,  burnished  with  late  sunlight, 
which  you  would  see  from  my  window,  your  attention 
shou.J  be  given  to  another  object,  which,  though  less 
deserving  on  other  accounts,  would,  I  am  sure,  more 
gratefully  repay  the  bestowed  favor.  I  can  scarcely 
believe  the  suggestion  of  my  heart,  now  affectionately 
hoping  the  time,  not  distant,  when  we  shall  happily 
'  meet  again.' 

"  The  little  Bible  which  you  gave  me,  lies  by  my 
side,  and  is,  to  my  eye,  the  most  pleasing  among  other 
pleasant  objects;  and  your  last  letter  of  the  1st  inst., 
which  I  see  from  between  its  pages,  while  it  adds  an- 
other to  the  rich  list  of  my  enjoyments,  seems  now 
sweetly  to  connect  them  all.  I  am  reminded,  as  I  look 
upon  its  white  edge  within  that  holy  book,  and  abroad 
upon  the  shaded  but  very  lovely  scenery,  of  a  thought, 
expressed  by  you  in  it,  of  that  meeting,  which  awaits 
us  in  another  and  better  country,  not  only  with  each 
other,  but  with  all  whom  we  love  as  brethren  and  friends 
of  the  Lord  Jesus.  I  think  my  love  of  beautiful  natu- 
ral scenery  has  much  strengthened  by  allowing  it  to 
become  to  my  mind  a  faint  representation  of  that 
'country,'  always  remembering,  that  'no  midnight 
shade,  no  clouded  sun '  can  obscure  its  beauty  and 
brightness,  for  '  the  Lamb  is  the  light  thereof.' 

"  Sometimes,  when  enjoyuig  so  much  these  fleeting 
weeks  of  association  with  my  own  family  and  friends, 


'■V 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


183 


hd 


the  thought  occurs,  that  henceforth,  our  paths  in  life 
will  be  separate,  that  only  '  few  and  far  between '  can 
be  our  opportunities  of  intercourse,  and  I  am  more 
keenly  grieved  than  ever ;  I  know  not  hmio  to  leave 
them,  should  Providence  spare  my  life.  But  when  I 
place  myself  under  the  influence  of  that  faith  which 
surveys  'things  unseen  by  feeble  sense,'  my  affections 
and  desires  expand ;  wherever  I  place  myself  in  thought, 
I  seem  to  be  at  home,  and  feeling  that  we  have  a  '  con- 
tinuing city '  in  that  bright  world  to  which  we  haste, 
think  I  can  forget  what  of  sadness  may  remain  about 
the  years  of  separation,  and  happily  go  where  duty 
calls.  The  way  is  indeed  cheered,  and  more,  it  is 
richly,  sufficiently  blessed  with  earthly  comfort  while  I 
can  have  your  society,  with  the  hope,  too,  set  before 
us  both,  of  this  relationship  purified,  spiritual  in  that 
better  state  —  and  Heaven  all  full  of  blessings. 

"Friday  evening.  —  I  had  permitted  my  pen  last 
night  to  glide  thus  along,  adding  line  to  line,  until  twi- 
light withdrew  its  friendly  aid,  and  I  preferred  to  omit 
writing  more,  lest  I  should  indulge  too  much  in  essay, 
to  which  you  will  perceive,  my  feelings  were  leading 
me.  I  am  happy  to  be  informed  so  fully  of  the  inter- 
esting hour  of  your  ordination,  and  of  its  happiness  to 
you.  My  mind  had  tried  in  vain  satisfactorily  to  pic- 
ture to  itself  the  circumstances  of  the  occasion,  but  my 
heart  failed  not  in  attempting  to  present  you  before  the 
throne  of  grace.  I  knew,  before  leaving  you,  that  I 
should  particularly  regret  my  absence  then ;  on  that 
Monday  evening,  I  felt  it  still  more  deeply  ;  and,  since 
receiving  your  last,  I  can  scatcely  forgive  myself  for 


SS^wp^ 


184 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


selling  the  opportunity  at  almost  any  price.  But  these 
regrets  avail  ine  nothing.  I  do  as  much  rejoice  in  that 
He  '  counted  you  faithful,  putting  you  into  the  minis- 
try,' and  kindled  such  emotions  in  your  heart.  Dare 
you  not  believe  that  they  were  the  effect  of  the  j)uri- 
fying  '  live  coal  from  off  the  altar,'  as  you  said,  '  Here 
ami?'     Why  not? 

"I  am  pleased  with  your  appointment*  on  many 
accounts,  and  should  still  be  so,  had  I  more  of  worldly 
ambition  for  your  career  in  life  than  I  have.  I  think 
it  opens  a  field  for  which  you  are  well  prepared,  and  I 
believe  it  will  be  agreeable  to  you.  Its  difficulties  I, 
of  course,  cannot  now  understand,  but  I  can  think  that 
your  Conference  would  not  tax  so  good  a  son  with  too 
weighty  a  burden  of  responsibilities,  though  I  infer  they 
must  be  many.  I  long  to  see  you,  and  talk  of  necc?;- 
sary  arrangements." 


In  her  journal  she  writes, 

"  Sabbath  evening,  June  19th.  —  The  hour  is  calm 
and  peaceful.  Scarce  a  sound  is  on  the  breeze,  as  it 
sweeps  o'ei  these  fair  hills  and  gardens,  save  ti)e  song 
of  many  birds,  and  the  soft  notes  of  the  city  bells,  call- 
ing the  people  to  the  place  of  prayer.  It  is  an  hour 
for  thoughts  most  sacred  and  sublime  ;  and  on  the  very 
sky  and  air,  there  seem  the  tracings  of  holy  time  —  fit 
season  for  the  weekly  offered.  Christian  sacrifice.  From 
how  many  family  circles  is  the  offering  made,  and  how 

*  Mr.  Pickard,  at  the  late  District  Meeting,  had  been  appointed 
Book  Agent  and  F.uitor  of  tlic  I$ritish  North  American  Wcsleyan 
Methodist  Magazine,  to  reside  at  St.  John. 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


185 


many  congregations  of  the  saints  are  now  met  to  lay 
upon  their  General  altar,  that  sacrifice  which  is  pleasing 
in  His  sig(.  /hose  name  sanctifies  every  gift !  In  hope 
of  seeing  Thee  in  Thy  kingdom  of  love  and  glory,  O 
Thou  gracious  One,  would  we  mention  the  name  of 
Jesus  ;  and,  praying  that  through  Him  we  may  be  per- 
mitted to  enter  the  courts  of  Thine  exalted  tabernacle, 
when  heart  and  flesh  shall  fail,  would  leave  ourselves 
with  Thee.  Keep,  O  keep  Thine  own  people ;  keep 
those  whom  Thou  hast  api)ointed  to  minister  to  them ; 
keep  our  little  circle  of  relatives,  and  let  us  all  be  found 
in  Thee  ;  keep  that  one  dearer  than  all  others  to  me. 
O  be  Thou  the  portion  of  his  life,  the  place  of  his  refuge 
in  all  trials,  the  abiding  hope,  ever  to  cheer  his  spirit ; 
and  when  his  present  life  shall  end,  and  no  more  he 
shall  need  a  refuge  from  its  storms,  or  hope  amid  its 
trials,  then,  O  be  Thou  his  glorious  portion. 

"  July  3d.  —  I  live  to  see  another  Sabbath  evening — 
how  sweet,  how  calm  ;  the  thunder,  and  the  lightning's 
flash,  and  the  rain  are  o'er,  and  all  is  delightful  as  '  now 
comes  still  evening  on.'  G,  T  wish  I  could  look  up  to 
God  with  all  that  love  and  co:  •  ciousness  of  acceptance 
which  He  is  willing  to  bes^>H'.  What  shall  I  do  ?  I 
need,  I  must  have  this.  I  c'esire  it  more  than  aught 
beside,  and  yet  I  seem  not  to  desire  it.  Great  God, 
aid  me  when  I  seek  to  give  my  all  to  Thee,  aid  me 
that  I  may  renounce  all ;  and  if  it  be  because  of  the 
stupefying  power  of  sin  that  I  realize  so  little  commu- 
nion with  Thee,  O  Thou  who  art  stronger  than  a  thou- 
sand legions  of  its  hosts,  O  do  Thou  overcome  that 
power  in  me;  if  \l  be  because  of  bodily  infirmities  and 
16* 


186 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


disquiet, '  Thou  who  knowest  our  frames,  and  remem- 
beiest  that  we  are  dust,  O  do  Thou  *  pity  tite  heart  that 
would  be  Thine,'  and,  at  least,  accept,  lor  Jesus'  sake, 
the  poor  offering,  though  it  please  Thee  to  hold  back 
the  brightness  of  Thy  face.  But  is  this  Thy  will  ?  O 
God,  I  do  give  myself,  my  all  —  all  —  all  to  Thee. 
Thy  will  be  done,  and  I  will  rejoice.  Yes,  Thy  will 
be  done.  O  take,  O  sanctify.  In  life,  in  death,  / 
would  be  thine.  O  may  it  please  Thee  to  keep  me. 
O  stand  near  me  in  the  hour  of  approaching  trial.  I 
know  not  the  issue,  but  O,  do  Thou  be  there,  and  let 
Thy  will  be  done." 

"Monday  Eve,  July  4th. —  The  bells  are  ringing 
merrily,  making  the  air  vocal  with  their  peahng  chimes. 
It  is  the  anniversary  of  our  national  Independence  — 
the  joyful  tale  they  are  telling  far  as  the  undulations 
swell.  For  years  I  have  Ijstened  to  them  thus,  and 
enjcycc;  each  tone,  because  they  were  tones  of  glad- 
ne^  •,  tn;i  spoke  the  language  of  ten  thousand  grateful 
hearts.  When  shall  I  listen  to  them  again  ?  None 
can  tell.  I  must  leave  them  soon  —  all  these  familiar 
scenes,  and  go  to  a  stranger  land,  should  my  life  be 
prolonged ;  but  I  go  with  one  dear  to  me ;  I  go  with 
One  who  guards  us  both.  All  places  are  alike  to  Him, 
and  shall  be  pleasant  to  me  if  He  be  with  us  there. 

"  July  8. —  I  trust  I  have  this  morning  a  heart  of 
gratitude  to  my  Heavenly  Father,  who  not  only  supplies 
us  with  all  temporal  good  necessary  to  our  existence  in 
a  pleasant  world,  but  who,  in  abundant  mercy,  lavishes 
upon  us  those  crowning  blessings  which  make  the 
heart,  like  a  well-watered  garden,  smile  with  sweetness 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


187 


and  beauty.  Yesterday  his  kind  Providonce  led  to 
me  the  one  whom  I  most  love.  Truly  I  am  undeserv- 
ing of  His  many  favors,  but  his  hand  is  open  still." 

The  season  which  our  friends  spent  with  us  at  Chel- 
sea, is  remembered  vv  th  reat  Icgree  of  delightful 
interest.      The  weather  i  month  of   July  that 

year,  was  almost  invn     '  le  •  nature   was  in  the 

very  perfection  of  sum.  ity  ;  and  the  fond  at- 

tachments which  we  cherisl  id  the  Christian  inter- 

course which  we  enjoyed,  served  to  strengthen  our 
conviction  of  the  value  of  the  relationships  and  affec- 
tions of  social  life,  especially  when  guarded  and 
sanctified  by  Christian  principle  and  influence.  Mr. 
Pickard  remained  four  or  five  weeks,  and  was  then 
obliged  to  return  home  to  attend  to  his  ofliicial  duties. 

The  following  recorded  tribute  of  earnest  and  pure 
affection,  of  sweetly  pious  resignation,  and  of  holy 
hope  and  joy,  seems  almost  too  sacred  for  public  no- 
tice ;  and  yet  it  cannot  fail  of  producing  a  blessed  and 
beneficial  impression  on  all  who  read  aright  the  emotions 
of  a  heart  so  affectionate  and  so  devout. 


"  Saturday  Night,  Aug.  13.  Again  we  are  separ- 
ated —  listening  to  the  voice  of  duty,  my  dear  husband 
has  refused  to  hearken  to  the  suggestions  offered  from 
any  other  source.  His  departure  brought  a  bitter  mo- 
ment to  me  —  to  him  —  yet  it  is  well,  all  well.  A 
longing  desire  for  the  comfort  of  his  presence  and 
assured  affection  in  that  hour  of  approaching  pain  and 
danger,  has  prevented  my  feeling  fully  heretofore  the 


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169 


MEMOIR  OF  MRS. 


imperativeness  of  other  claims,  even  while  I  would  at 
once  shrink  from  the  thought  of  detaining  him  for  a 
moment,  when  that  distant  duty  required  his  absence 
from  my  side.  I  fear  I  have  not  urged  his  return  as  I 
should  have  done  —  may  T  be  forgiven !  O,  our  Father, 
Thou  art  good,  bless  us  with  Thy  continued  mercies ; 
and  O,  for  the  sake  of  our  <  Frieiid '  alone,  grant  that 
whatever  of  earth-born  care  and  selfish  gratification 
has  mingled  around  us,  or  dimmed  our  spiritual  vision, 
may  now  be  taken  away  by  the  blood  of  the  cross,  that 
it  stain  not  the  sacrifice  which  we  again  present  to 
Thee.  Let  us  be  Thine  for  ever,  Thine  wholly.  The 
future  we  leave  to  '  Thy  3ure  love  and  tender  care.' 
We  do,  we  do !  Eyery  sorrow  ceases,  every  fear  dies 
at  Thy  feet ;  for  from  Thy  love  each  pain  and  trial 
receives  its  commission,  and  would  bear  our  trust  up- 
ward  to  Thy  presence.  Then  while  in  the  depths  of 
Thine  own  perfections,  Thou  workest  out  Thy  bright 
designs  respecting  us,  we  rest  secure,  although  we  trace 
not  Thy  fiiiger  in  all  Thine  operations. 

"  Bless  dear  H.!  Happy  have  been  the  days  allowed 
us  together  in  pleasant  New-England,  '  my  ov/n  sweet, 
home  of  other  days ;'  but  happier,  far  happier  will  be  the 
blissful  days  of  eternity,  when  in  holy  companionship  we 
go  abroad  among  the  unfading  scenes  of  our  glorious 
home  on  high. 

V ,  •  Nor  pain,  nor  grief,  nor  anxious  fear 

•  Invades  its  bounds  ;  nor  mortal  woes,' 


can  shed  a  moment's  gloom  about  us  there !     O,  accept 
us,  and  let  us  sweetly  labor  on,  until  our  sun  go  down ; 


:x:; 


HANNAH   M,   PICKARD. 


189 


then  in  some  appointed  portion  of  Thy  vineyard,  let  the 
voice  of  the  summoning  angel  greet  us,  surrounded  by 
gathered  fruits  and  finished  toils,  ready  to  enter  into 
Thy  joy.  Give  us,  while  we  tarry  for  that  hour,  O  give 
us,  not  of  earth  the  golden  store,  but  momentarily  par- 
don, peace  of  mind,  and  sweet  content ;  give  us  increas- 
ing love  to  each  other,  increasing  love  to  Thee,  and  ever 
growing  faith  in  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  —  yea,  '  ever- 
more give  us  this  bread.'  Again,  bless  dear  H.,  now 
while  o'er  the  waters  he  pursues  his  way,  be  Thou 
around  his  path.  Save  him  from  anxiety  for  any  left 
behind  ;  save  him  from  fear  of  future  trials ;  and  let 
him  find  his  strength  and  joy  in  Thes  now,  and  his 
exceeding  great  reward  in  Thee  hereafter. 

Hannah." 


After  more  than  the  usual  disquietude,  despondency 
and  anxiety  which  precede  the  hour  of  human  birth, 
on  the  seventh  day  of  September,  Mrs.  Pickard  expe- 
rienced a  fresh  and  untold  joy  in  the  new  relation  of 
mother.  Her  husband,  who  had  again  been  with  us 
a  short  time,  returned,  after  a  few  days,  to  his  appointed 
labors,  and  left  the  mother  and  infant  boy  to  follow 
him  when  it  should  be  judged  prudent  a.id  safe  for 
them  to  venture.  .  During  her  stay  the  anniversary  of 
their  marriage  occurred,  which  she  commemorated  in 
the  following  record,  which  I  transcribe,  with  its  special 
indications  of  time  and  place. 

Chelsea,  Mass.  U.  S.,  Sabbath  Eve,  Oct.  3,  1842. 
<'  One  year  ago,  at  this  hour,  I  was  standing  before 


ii^i  ti 


'  /^T"^.: 


190 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


the  altar  to  plight  my  faith  to  the  one  whom  Providence 
had  chosen  as  the  partner  and  guide  of  my  life ;  that 
faith  I  promised,  and  the  love  of  a  devoted  heart  I 
gave.  I  looked  to  the  future,  but  could  read  none  of 
its  uncertainties ;  I  looked  upward  for  strength  to  meet 
its  approaching  events,  and  towards  the  respected,  be- 
loved one  by  my  side,  and  though  to  become  soon  a 
stranger  among  strangers,  I  felt  no  fear.  And  now,  at 
the  close  of  a  year,  I  look  upon  the  past,  and  up  to 
the  Disposer  of  all,  and  am  thankful.  I  am  thankful 
for  the  silken  cord  which  binds  us  as  one ;  thankful 
for  the  delicate  gift  which  endears  and  beautifies  that 
union ;  thankful  that  it  is  to  be  perpetuated  <  so  long 
as  we  both  shall  live ;'  and  that 


fr 


•  Beyond  this  vale  of  tears, 
There  is  a  life  above, 
Unmeasured  by  the  flight  of  years,' 

where  we  shall  be  re-united  after  the  touch  of  severing 
death,  and  our  spirits  shall  blend  in  etern'^  '  oUness 
and  joy." 


In  a  letter  to  her  husband,  communicating  the  time 
selected  for  her  purposed  return,  she  thus  writes  re- 
specting the  ideas  and  feelings  awakened  by  her  rela- 
tion as  mother. 


<'  I  have  had  some  of  the  most  delightful  moments 
of  profitable  and  elevating  thoughts,  with  our  little  boy 
by  me,  which  I  have  ever  known ;  especially  do  I  get, 
through  the  feelings  eipkindled  in  my  own  heart,  some 


~.r-''"?- 


:tS^.^ 


And  so  did  she  always  ascend  from  earthly  scenes 
and  relationships  to  spiritual  and  heavenly  views ;  and 
seemed  ever  more  deeply  moved  by  those  divine  reali- 
ties, so  vivid  to  her  faith,  than  by  the  visible,  sensible 
objects  which  are  only  their  representations. 

Having  once  again  bidden  adieu  to  warmly  attached 
friends,  she,  with  the  babe,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Thomas 
Pickard,  her  husband's  brother,  left  East  Boston  in  the 
cars  for  Portland,  where  they  took  the  steamer  Hun- 
tress for  St.  John.  She  arrived  safely  on  the  39th  of 
October,  in  the  jnidst  of  cordial  greetings,  and  happily 
found  herself  once  more  in  her  own  home,  which  was 
then  located  in  Duke  street,  in  the  City. 


^ 


HANNAH  M.  PICKARD. 


191 


deeper,  I  think  truer,  realization  of  the  love  of  God 
to  His  children.  O,  I  enjoy  the  train  of  thoughts 
thus  awakened  above  all  others,  for  it  leads  through 
aH  that  is  endearing,  and  faith-inspiring,  and  glorious 
in  our  hopes  and  in  the  promises." 


i* 


, 


/ 


192 


MEMOIR  OF  MRS. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

History  of  the  Wesleyan  Academy,  Sackville,  N.  B.  Descriptioii 
of  Sackville.  Mrs.  Fickard's  journey  to  Sackville.  Opening  of 
the  School.  Baptism  of  her  child.  The  nature  of  her  connection 
with  the  Institution.  Anxiety  on  account  of  her  father's  illness. 
Note  to  Miss  C.  Patten.  Attachment  to  friends  both  in  her 
native  and  adopted  land.  Short  visit  to  Boston.  Commence- 
ment of  the  Academy .  General  esteem.  Her  aged  Class-leader. 
Letters. 

Soon  after  Mrs.  Pickard's  return  home,  her  husband 
was  appointed  Principal  of  the  Wesleyan  Academy, 
just  then  completed,  which  is  under  the  control  and 
patronage  of  the  New-Brunswick  and  Nova  Scotia 
Wesleyan  District  Conferences.  This  Institution  is 
pleasantly  and  conveniently  situated  in  the  town  of 
Sackville  —  a  border  town  of  New-Brunswick,  about 
equi-distant  fron^  St.  John  and  Halifax,  N.  S.  It 
occupies  an  elevation  of  ground,  now  called  Mount 
Allison.  This  name  is  given  to  the  spot  from  sincere 
and  deserved  regard  to  the  truly  estimable  gentleman 
whose  Christian  liberality  founded  this  greatly  needed 
and  highly  useful  school.  Such  deeds  deserve,  and 
will  receive  the  meed  of  human  regard  and  praise,  how- 
ever desirous  the  authors  themselves  may  be  to  receive 
only  the  approbation  of  a  gratified  conscience,  and  the 


i  f 


iSii: 


^■i(<il.'^^i■^■?-la#I..lrW:,;i_jJ.ii^^>v.iMsVMi'J^i-(,lt=i>.iIi>.:?!'.ii 


j.'JA^l  ^'j:,^iv4L'.^ia...^" t 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD, 


193 


divine  favor.  It  is,  perhaps,  one  of  the  most  painful 
trials  to  which  persons  of  truly  modest  merit  are  lia- 
ble, that  any  of  their  really  deserving  acts  should 
be  made  the  subject  of  public  notice  and  remark,  so 
much  of  imperfection  and  felt  unworthiness  mingles, 
as  they  think,  in  all  they  do.  Yet  to  excite  the  sloth- 
ful and  selfish  to  similar  deeds,  as  well  as  to  glorify 
Him  who  gives  both  the  means  and  the  grace  rightly 
to  employ  them,  is  not  the  least  of  the  benefits  which 
may  result  from  such  wisely  bestowed  charities.  And 
this  result  can  be  most  fully  realized  only  by  preserved 
and  public  memorials  of  such  beneficent  acts. 

The  history  and  operation  oi  this  Academy,  are  so 
intimately  connected  with  the  remaining  portion  of  our 
narrative,  that  a  particular  and  somewhat  detailed  ac- 
count of  it  seems  necessary  and  important.     • 

It  is  proper  to  say  that  the  Wesleyan  societies  had, 
for  some  time,  felt  the  urgent  want  of  such  an  Institu- 
tion, and  had  not  failed  to  make  efforts  to  procure  one. 
As  an  ecclesiastical  body,  they  were  among  the  first  fa 
the  Province  of  New-Brunswick,  to  attempt  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  literary  seminary.  Several  years  ago 
some  subscriptions  were  obtained,  and  a  lot  of  land  in 
Fredericton  purchased,  for  the  erection  of  an  Academy ; 
but  a  sufficient  amount  could  not  be  secured  to  justify 
their  proceeding  farther  than  the  purchase  of  the  land, 
and  the  enterprize  was  abandoned  for  the  time.  The 
hopes,  thus  crushed,  were  most  cheeringly  revived  by  a 
very  munificent  proposal  from  an  unexpected  source. 

Two  hundred  miles  from  Fredericton,  where  their 
eyes  !tad  rested  as  the  location  for  their  desired  school, 
17 


194 


MEMOIR   OF  MRS. 


' 


and  one  hundred  and  thirty  miles  from  St.  John,  the 
usual  seat  of  their  District  Conference,  God  had  put  it 
into  the  heart  of  a  very  worthy  Wesleyan  brother  to 
become  the  benefactor  of  his  own  people,  and  of  the 
people  of  the  two  Provinces,  by  the  endowment  of  a 
literary  institution  on  a  generous  and  Christian  founda- 
tion. The  impulse  which  moved  him  to  this  act,  was 
a  motive  of  Christian  benevolence  and  of  religious 
obligation.  He  had  felt  for  some  time  that  it  was  his 
duty  to  do  more  than  he  had  done  for  the  cause  of 
Christ,  with  the  means  which  Providence  had  placed 
at  his  disposal ;  and  in  contemplating  the  field  of  effort 
he  could  fix  on  no  point  more  worthy,  and  more  in 
need  of  the  aid  which  he  could  bestow,  than  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  High  School  for  the  benefit  of  the  Wes- 
leyan Societies.  Accordingly,  in  January  1839,  he 
addressed  a  letter  to  the  District  Conference  of  New 
Brunswick,  containing  his  proposition.  The  letter  was 
laid  before  the  Conference  at  its  meeting  in  May  fol- 
IcfWing,  in  the  city  of  St.  John,  in  which  he  proposed 
to  purchase  a  site,  and  erect  a  suitable  building  for  an 
Academy,  and  to  furnish  one  hundred  pounds  a  year 
for  ten  years,  for  its  current  expenses  —  the  Academy 
to  be  located  in  Sackville,  the  place  of  his  residence, 
and  to  be  under  the  joint  control  of  the  two  Provincial 
Districts,  New-Brunswick  and  Nova  Scotia:  and  he 
modestly  expressed  the  hope  that  the  Districts  would 
accept  his  proposition  and  appoint  a  Committee  to 
superintend  the  business.  The  Districts,  at  their  re- 
spective Conferences,  did  not  hesitate  in  the  matter, 
but  gratefully  received  the  offer,  and  made  provision  to 
carry  it  into  effect. 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


195 


The  principles  on  which  Mr.  Allison  wished  that  the 
Institution  should  be  established  are  briefly  but  clearly 
set  forth  in  the  letter  of  proposal,  and  in  his  address 
at  the  laying  of  the  corner-stone.  "  My  mind,"  says 
he,  "  has  of  late  been  much  impressed  with  the  great 
importance  of  that  admonition  of  the  wise  man  ;  *  Train 
up  a  child  in  the  way  he  should  go ;  and  when  he  is 
old  he  will  not  depart  from  it.'  The  establishment  of 
schools  in  which  pure  religion  is  not  only  taught,  but 
constantly  brought  before  the  youthful  mind,  and  rep- 
resented to  it  as  the  basis  and  ground-work  of  all  the 
happiness  which  man  is  capable  of  enjoying  here  on 
earth,  and  eminently  calculated  to  form  the  most  per- 
fect character,  is,  I  think,  one  of  the  most  efficient 
means  in  the  order  of  Divine  Providence  to  bring  about 
tfic  liappy  result  spoken  of  by  the  wise  man."  It  was 
under  this  impression,  as  he  says  in  the  letter,  con- 
nected with  a  persuasion  of  his  accountability  to  that 
gracious  Being,  whom  he  would  ever  recognize  as  the 
source  of  all  the  good  that  u  done  in  the  earth,  that 
he  made  his  proposition. 

The  Committee  of  the  two  Districts  met  in  ?>3ck- 
vilie  in  the  month  of  January,  1840,  and  deterk.jwied 
on  the  plan  of  the  building,  etc.;  and  the  building  was 
commenced  in  May  of  the  aame  year.  On  the  9th  of 
July,  the  corner  stone  was  laid  with  religious  services, 
on  which  occasion  Mr.  Allison  made  the  following  brief 
address,  in  the  act  of  putting  the  stone  in  its  place« 


"  The  Foundation-stone  of  this  building  I  now  pro- 
ceed to  lay,  in  the  name  of  the  Holy  Trinity,  Father, 


'".■^^jr>'"'^iTfi=' 


196 


MEMOIR    OF   MRS. 


Son  and  Holy  Ghost.  And  may  the  education  ever  to 
be  furnished  by  the  Institution  be  conducted  on  Wes- 
leyan  principles,  to  the  glory  of  God,  and  the  extension 
of  His  cause.     Amen." 


This  building,  which  is  of  wood,  is  a  noble  edifice, 
one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  in  length,  50  feet  in  width, 
and  three  stories  high,  above  the  basement.  It  has  a 
handsome  portico  in  tiie  middle  of  the  facade,  with  four 
Doric  columns  from  the  ground  floor  to  the  roof  of  the 
main  building  ;  and  two  half-square  columns  projecting 
at  each  end  of  the  fUcade  at  proper  distances  apart. 
The  basement  is  built  of  red  sandstone,  or  freestone, 
the  rest  of  the  building  is  painted  white.  Its  internal 
arrangement  is  planned  in  no  narrow  or  stinted  meas- 
ure. The  rooms  of  the  lower  or  ground  story,  includi'iir 
chapel,  library,  recitation  rooms,  parlors  and  silting 
rooms,  are  high,  large,  airy  and  commodious.  The 
study  and  sleeping  rooms  of  the  students  are  of  suffi- 
ciently ample  dimensions.  There  are  accommodations 
for  about  eighty  boarders.  The  basement  is  occupied 
with  dining  hall,  kitchen,  etc.,  all  light,  dry  and  comfort- 
able. The  Principal  and  Governor  occupy  apartments 
at  each  end  respectively,  which  are  separated  from  the 
rest  of  the  building,  by  partitions,  so  that  the  spacious 
middle  hall  does  not  pass  throughout  the  building  from 
end  to  end.  The  edifice  is  well  and  firmly  built,  and  is 
neatly  and  comfortably  furnished.  It  was  erected  at  an 
expense  of  between  five  and  six  thousand  pounds ;  four 
thousand  of  which,  Mr.  Allison  gave  as  a  donation, 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


197 


accompanying  his  offering  with  a  devotion  of  time, 
labor,  and  personal  attention,  which  cannot  be  reckoned 
in  the  value  of  money,  and  which  showed  his  deep 
interest  in  the  enterprise.  Additional  subscriptions  to 
aid  in  supplying  furniture,  library,  apparatus,  etc.,  were 
also  procured  to  the  amount  of  more  than  one  thousand 
five  hundred  pounds. 

Sackville,  in  the  County  of  Westmoreland,  lies  at 
the  head  of  the  Bay  of  Fundy,  and  the  Academy 
building  commands  a  view  of  its  waters  as  they  ascend, 
with  their  mighty  tides,  the  numerous  creeks  which  re- 
semble rivers  in  length  and  breadth.  The  township 
is  rather  the  best  cultivated  of  any  in  the  Province. 
It  contains  a  great  deal  of  excellent  land.  It  alsocon> 
tains  a  thriving  and  industrious  population,  not  closely 
settled,  with  Epicopalian,  Baptist  and  Methodist 
churches  or  chapels.  The  location  is  healthy,  owing 
much  of  its  salubrity  to  the  high  winds  which  purify 
the  atmosphere  as  they  sweep  across  from  the  Bay  to 
the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence,  about  twelve  miles  distant. 
Immense  tracts  of  marsh  have,  by  diking,  been  re- 
deemed from  the  waters  of  the  Bay  or  creeks  —  the 
work  of  the  former  French  inhabitants  —  which  now  af 
ford  vast  quantities  of  English  grass.  Large  herds  of 
cattle,  and  considerable  flocks  of  sheep  are  raised  in 
this  as  well  as  other  parts  of  New-Brunswick,  for  it  is 
chiefly  a  grain  and  grazing  country.  Sackville  is  near 
the  locality  of  the  grind-stone  quarries,  from  which  the 
American  markets  are  so  amply  supplied  ;  and  it  is  in 
the  midst  of  a  region  abounding  with  interesting  min- 
eralogical  and  geological  formations.  The  post-road 
17* 


198 


MEMOIR    OF  MRS. 


between  St.  John,  N.  B.,  and  Halifax,  N.  S.,  passes 
through  the  village,  which  is,  conveniently  located  for 
access  from  other  parts  of  the  Provinces.  Its  short 
distance  from  the  Gulf,  renders  it  easily  accessible  by 
the  inhabitants  of  Prince  Edward  Island,  from  which 
several  scholars  have  already  been  received.  It  is  also 
expected  that  some  aid,  in  subscriptions  and  scholars, 
will  be  obtained  from  Newfoundland,  which  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Rice  intends  to  visit,  in  the  way  of  his  agency, 
the  present  year.  No  spot,  probably,  could  have  been 
selected,  combining  more  advantages  for  a  prosperous 
and  flourishing  Wesleyan  school.  The  patronage,  al- 
ready furnished,  in  the  supply  of  scholars,  testifies 
both  to  the  demand  for  such  an  Institution,  the  general 
sense  of  its  value,  and  the  facility  with  which  its  ad- 
vantages may  be  secured.  There  has  been  a  constant 
increase  of  scholars  from  the  first.  The  first  term, 
thirty-four  in  all  attended ;  the  second  term,  forty-five ; 
the  third,  sixty-four ;  and  last  winter,  one  hundred ; 
making  as  many  both  day  and  boarding  scholars,  as  the 
Institution  will  accommodate.  It  is  enough  to  say  that 
this  remarkable  prosperity  is  unprecedented  in  the 
Province,  and  furnishes  signal  evidence  of  the  estima- 
tion in  which  the  excellent  character  of  the  Academy  is 
held  by  the  public,  both  Wesleyans  and  others  —  for 
admission  to  its  privileges  is  open  to  all  classes  of  the 
community.  Another  gratifying  indication  of  the  public 
sentiment  and  sympathy  in  favor  of  the  school,  is  the 
fact  of  the  generally  free  and  practical  response  which 
is  given  to  the  calls  of  the  worthy  and  active  agent, 
Rev.  Samuel  D.  Rice,  for  subscriptions  and  donations 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


199 


to  liquidate  a  remaining  debt,  and  to  increase  its  ac- 
commodations. It  is  becoming  and  pleasing  to  add, 
that  the  Institution  is  receiving  a  grant  of  one  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  |)er  annum  from  the  Nova  Scotia 
Legislature,  and  one  of  three  hundred  pounds  per 
annum  from  the  New-Brunswick  Legislature. 

Early  in  January,  1843,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pickard,  with 
their  child,  removed  from  St.  John,  amid  the  regrets 
of  personal  friends,  to  their  apartments  in  the  Acade- 
my. With  due  precaution  in  the  arrangement  of  their 
travelling  accommodations,  Mrs.  Pickard  and  infant 
made  this  journey  of  130  miles,  in  the  depth  of  winter, 
with  entire  comfort.  Some  pleasing  account  of  the 
journey,  as  of  other  matters,  will  be  found  in  extracts 
of  a  letter  to  her  sister,  written  after  their  settlement. 
The  school,  as  will  be  perceived,  was  opened  on  the 
19th  of  January,  with  private  devotional  exercises,  the 
public  and  formal  commencement  being  deferred  till  a 
more  suitable  occasion.    - 


Wesleyan  Academy,  Sackville,  Feb.  14,  1843. 
My  dear,  dear  Sister, 

I  will  leave  my  poor  apology  for  delay,  and  try  to 
turn  back  over  the  long  time  since  I  last  wrote  you. 
I  think  I  informed  you  that  we  were  then  soon  to  go 
to  Mr.  Owens'  hospitable  mansion.  We  were  there, 
enjoying  every  comfort  which  they  could  devise  for  us, 
some  more  than  a  week ;  and  left  them  on  the  day  ap- 
pointed, receiving,  to  the  last  moment,  every  demon- 
stration of  interest  and  affection  which  could  be  im- 
parted.    The   day   was   exceedingly  cold.     I   never 


200 


MEMOIR    OF   MRS. 


before  saw  such  royal  indications  of  cold ;  truly,  we 
seemed  to  be  in  the  territory  of  old  King  Winter. 
Humphrey  had  the  livery  on  all  day.  He  travelled 
outside  with  the  driver,  very  actively  and  kindly  look- 
ing in  upon  us  with  his  coat  white,  his  hair  and  whiskeis 
hoary  with  frost,  even  his  eyebrows  and  eyelashes  id- 
cled!  I  scarcely  recognized  him.  You  will  wonder 
then,  what  became  of  our  poor  little  babe,  and  my 
shivering  self;  well,  I  must  tell  you,  I  think  Humphrey 
smuggled  us  through  altogether  without  tribute,  or  the 
slightest  knowledge  of  that  "  lynch  "  officer,  J.  Frost. 
Tiie  baby  was  generally  sleeping,  and  waked,  I  think, 
to  but  one  trouble  —  his  many  envelopes ;  I  was  not 
cold  for  a  moment.  Humphrey  had  previously  sent 
on  word  of  our  coming,  so  the  way  was  all  prepared ; 
we,  every  where,  found  good  fireS;  ready  food,  a  warm 
bed-room,  etc.  We  had  a  capita!  Yankee  driver,  who 
of  course,  kept  "  ahead  "  of  the  mail  stage,  and  boasted 
very  slily  and  knowingly,  of  his  much  better  "  commo- 
dations."  It  was  very  easy  to  discern  the  family 
likeness  here,  especially  when  I  heard  him  say,  "  The 
musquetoes  bite  pretty  sharp  to-night."  I  could  hard- 
ly help  exclaiming,  "  Why,  how  do  you  do,  brother 
Jonathan,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  here."  When  he  land- 
ed us  at  our  new  quarters,  shut  up  his  snug  little  coach, 
and  drove  smackingly  off  towards  St.  John,  in  my 
heart  I  wished  him  good  luck,  and,  some  time,  a  return 
to  his  native  land. 

On  our  arrival,  I  found  three  servants  already  em- 
ployed in  the  house,  doing  what  they  could  towards 
putting  it  in  order ;  but,  as  in  all  this  time,  no  tidings 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


301 


had  arrived  of  the  long  expected  vessel  which  was  to 
bring  much  of  the  necessary  furniture,*  little  could  be 
done.  We  were  no  sooner  here,  than  Mr.  Allison  ap- 
peared with  his  horse  and  sleigh  to  take  us  to  his  house, 
until  we  could  be  more  pleasantly  situated  in  the  In- 
stitution. Words  declining  were  thrown  away,  and 
there  we  were  again,  receiving  a  generous  hospitality 
more  than  a  week. 

The  school  was  opened  on  the  19th  of  January, 
without  any  ceremony ;  that,  you  will  recollect,  is  de- 
ferred until  next  June ;  the  present  is  but  a  private 
matter  of  a  Term.  Tnere  were  five  "  Missionaries," 
the  Rev.  Messrs.  Williams,  Shepard,  Wilson,  Rice  and 
Pickard,  present,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Allison,  myself, 
Mr.  Hea,  and  seven  students.  Appropriate  Scriptures 
were  read,  and  several  fervent  prayers  were  offered  ; 
we  wer  sure,  by  the  sacred  influence  of  the  hour,  that 
they  were  recorded  on  High.  Mr.  Allison  was,  during 
all,  the  picture  of  quiet  gratification,  and  his  wife  re- 
flected his  image.  After  the  services  ceased,  the  little 
company  remained  to  tea  with  us,  and  through  the 
evening,  mutually  enlivening  and  enlivened  by  the 
handsome  drawing-room  in  which  we  were  assembled. 

We  have  now  fifteen  students  in  family,  and  thirty 
included  in  the  school  —  numbers  exceeding  the  ex- 
pectations of  the  friends,  for  the  season  and  the  cir- 
cumstances. Mr.  P.  and  myself  make  the  head  of  our 
happy,  social  circle  at  table.     Our  hours  are,  of  course, 

*  The  vessel,  with  the  furniture  from  England,  was  lost  at  sea ; 
but  they  had  comfortable  temporary  supplies,  till  the  furniture,  re- 
ordered, arrived  in  the  spring. 


!^i^»j 


.'■<»l-». 


202 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


systematic.     All  things  are  very  comfortable,  and  more 
than  that. 

O,  what  would  I  not  give  to  see  you !  such  chats  as 
I  do  sometimes  hold  with  you,  and  laugh  to  myself 
meantime,  and  get  so  excited  —  but,  ah,  how  soon  the 
charm  is  broken.  I  am  alone  a  great  deal,  except  the 
baby  and  iiis  quiet  nurse,  as  Humphrey  is  constantly 
hurried  with  duties.  He  has  recitatiohs  to  attend  to 
from  eight  in  the  morning,  till  half-past  four  at  even- 
ing; these,  together  with  the  Magazine  which  he  still 
edits,  some  domestic  cares,  and  general  supervision,  as 
you  may  well  suppose,  keep  him  constantly  employed. 
When  shall  we  meet  again  ?  O  Emma,  I  cannot  tell 
you  how  much  I  think  and  feel  about  you.  My  heart 
almost  breaks  when  I  think  of  you  and  father  —  good 
father  —  words  are  nothing  to  my  purpose;  but  you 
will  believe  me  your  most  affectionate  sister,  and  he 
must  think  of  me  as  much  as  ever  alive  to  his  interests 
and  comfort.  May  his  life  be  long  and  blessed  !  If  I 
begin  to  individualize,  I  should  be  glad  to  add  many 
names  in  precious  remembrance,  but  space  forbids. 
Your  children — dear  little  fellows  —  arc,  of  course, 
to  my  mind,  included  in  almost  every  thought  of  you. 
Tell  Edward  and  Francis,  I  think  of  them  many  times 
every  day,  and  can  see  just  how  they  look.  I  thought 
of  them  and  of  you  all,  the  night  the  baby  was  baptized, 
ard  wished  you  were  by.  It  was  on  Christmas  even- 
ing at  St.  John  ;  the  Chapel  was  densely  and  beautifully 
decorated  with  evergreens ;  the  railing  of  the  altar  be- 
fore which  we  stood,  was  entwined,  and  the  fine  marble 
fountain  from   which   he   was  sprinkled,   was  lightly 


II 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


203 


wreathed  with  them  — these  things,  of  course,  were  not 
in  my  thoughts  then,  definitely,  yet  they  did  delightfully 
harmonize  with  all  that  was  beautiful  in  the  scene,  and 
come  up  with  very  pleasant  association  in  memory.  I 
thought  of  you,  and  of  those  whose  presence  I  almost 
realized  as  there,  with  the  words  which  came  suddenly 
to  mind,  "  seeing  we  also  are  compassed  about  with  so 
great  a  cloud  of  witnesses  ; "  —  this  seemed  true,  and 
yet  I  felt  alone,  so  far  as  the  congregation  were  con- 
cerned. The  little  Edward  Dwight  was  very  quiet  all 
the  time.  He  never  looked  half  as  handsome  before. 
I  wish  you  could  see  him  now ;  there  he  is  fast  asleep 
in  the  corner,  fair  and  plump  and  rosy  cheeked,  sweet 
as  a  new  lily  bud  ;  almost  always  wakes  smiling  —  he 
is  indeed  a  good  little  one.  He  has  changed  much  in 
resemblances  since  you  saw  him.  You  will  smile,  but 
he  does  look  like  mother ;  many  times  a  day  he  brings 
her  instantaneously  to  mind,  and  his  whole  face  often 
seems  sufTused  with  expression  like  hers,  that  has  a 
strange  effect  upon  me.  I  chill,  and  almost  imagine 
him  a  spirit.  I  always  feel  as  if  he  were  not  to  live 
long.  But  I  know  not  how  I  could  survive  the  loss  of 
him,  he  is  such  a  pure  comfort. 

I  run  on  most  confusedly,  and  here  I  am  now  at  the 
place  for  closing  the  letter,  without  having  noticed  what, 
from  interest  to  me,  belongs  on  the  first  page  —  the 
state  of  your  health,  and  allusions  to  your  family  cir- 
cumstances.  How  is  father  now,  and  mother  —  .1 
thank  her  a  thousand  times  for  her  kind  interest  in  me 
and  the  baby,  and  remember  with  much  gratitude,  her 
efforts  to  please  and  cheer  me  last  summer.     Much  of 


204 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


the  time,  lately,  I  find  it  very  difficult  to  realize  that 
you  are,  any  of  you,  alive  — it  is  a  sad  impression,  and 
often  almost  weighs  me  down.  In  the  warm  season, 
packets  are  every  week,  passing  from  here  to  Boston, 
80,  I  think,  I  shall  not  then  feel  myself  to  be  so  very 
distant  from  you.  Yours  truly, 

Hannah. 


f 


Mrs.  Pickard  had  more  than  a  merely  relative  con- 
nection with  the  Institution.  She  not  only  longed  for 
its  prosperity,  and  felt  happy  in  their  connection  with 
its  interests,  but  she  exerted  herself,  to  the  utmost,  to 
promote  the  happiness  of  its  pupils,  and  to  maintain 
the  economy,  efficiency  and  satisfactoriness  of  its  inter- 
nal, domestic  arrangements.  "  She  properly  regard<;d 
the  Institution,"  says  her  husband,  "  as  the  child  of 
Providence,  and  one  which  might  be  rendered  a  very 
great  blessing  to  the  world  ;  and,  therefore,  she  truly 
devoted  herself,  with  self-sacrificing  zeal,  to  the  pro- 
motion of  its  interests.  As  the  plans  of  the  managing 
Committee  in  reference  to  the  domestic  department, 
could  not  be  conveniently  carried  immediately  into 
eflfect,  she  cheerfully  undertook  to  superintend  the  fur- 
nishing of  the  house,  and  also  the  charge  of  that  de- 
partment for  the  first  term.  This  service  she  performed 
with  distinguished  success.  She  was  very  anxious  that 
the  Institution  should  obtain  a  character,  in  all  respects, 
worthy  of  its  origin ;  and  she  justly  judged  that  very 
much,  for  some  time  to  come,  would  depend  upon  the 
history  of  the  first  term.  The  Academy  owes  very 
much  of  its  prosperity  to  her  well-formed  plans,  her 


■   " ;   '.W"^!?!.l^l*(W,»r!>^'flj*»Jl^'*»!»»mW*J?'#'» 


HANNAH    M.    PICKA.RD. 


205 


skill  and  judicious  management,  and  her  general  influ- 
ence. She  studied  to  have  the  domestic  arrangemehts 
such,  that  the  pupils  would  feel  as  little  as  possible 
the  absence  of  the  peculiar  comforts  of  their  own 
homes ;  and  all  of  them  were  contented  and  comforta- 
ble. Towards  the  younger  members  of  the  Academi- 
cal family,  she  cherished,  and  in  every  possible  way 
manifested,  all  but  maternal  affection  ;  towards  the 
older  ones,  the  warm,  disinterested  kindness  of  a  de- 
voted sister.  From  the  first  day  of  her  connection  with 
it  until  her  death,  she  was,  from  principle  and  feeling, 
identified  with  the  interests  of  the  Academy,  and  spared 
not  herself  in  striving  for  its  success."  Being  so  fully 
occupied  with  her  own  domestic  cares,  and  those  of 
the  establishment,  she  had  no  opportunity  to  continue 
the  practice  of  even  occasional  journalizing,  and  after 
her  removal  to  Sackville,  I  find  but  one,  a  very  preciou:* 
record,  made  not  a  great  while  before  her  death.  She 
however  wrote  considerably,  by  way  of  correspon- 
dence, and  an  occasional  article  for  the  Magazine,  and 
in  the  preparation  of  the  manuscript  of  the  "  Widow's 
Jewels." 

The  affectionate  anxiety  of  her  nature  was  awaken- 
ed, by  a  letter  from  her  sister,  informing  her  that  her 
father  had  been  dangerously  sick  ;  and  she  gave  ex- 
pression to  her  feelings  in  a  sympathetic  letter  to  him, 
from  which  so  much  is  extracted  as  relates  to  that 
event. 


"March  6lh,   1843.     My  dear  Father.  —  On    the 
evening  of  the  2d  insi.  I  received  a  letter  from  Emma, 
18 


206 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


I 


informing  me  of  a  dangerous  illness  through  which  you 
have  passed  since  I  had  last  heard  from  you.  O,  how 
my  heart  was  pained  about  it ;  you  have  almost  con- 
stantly been  in  my  thoughts  since  then  ;  and  although 
she  assured  me  that  you  were  restored  nearly  to  your 
wonted  health,  I  yet  have  continued  anxiety  on  your 
account.  My  emotions,  while  I  now  again  write  to 
you,  are  indescribable.  Surely,  my  good  father,  God 
was  merciful  to  raise  you  up,  even  though  it  were  mer- 
cy shown  only  to  me.  I  know  not  how  I  could  have 
endured  the  thought  that  you,  too,  were  realty  removed 
from  earth  —  that  I  could  never,  never  again  look  upon 
you,  or  administer  a  moment's  pleasure  or  comfort  to 
■you,  who  have  always  done  so  much  for  me.  No, 
father,  though  I  knov/  you  have  had  a  rather  stormy 
and  adverse  passage  in  life  thus  far,  and  that  to  live 
would  probably  be  but  to  continue  your  trials,  while  to 
die  would,  I  doubt  not,  to  you  be  gain,  yet  my  faith 
would  hardly  put  her  hand  to  your  'reprieve.'  I 
would,  selfishly  indeed,  keep  you  here,  that  I  may  once 
in  a  while  see  you,  when  permitted  to  visit  the  place 
of  my  former  home,  and  know,  from  day  to  day,  that 
you  are  still  living  there  ;  and  yet  I  know  that  the  time 
must  be,  when  you  will  be  seen  no  more  on  earth,  and 
unless  my  removal  should  first  come,  I  shall  have  to 
feel  the  sorrow  inevitable  of  this.  It  has  awakened  in 
my  mind,  more  gloomy  thoughts  concerning  our  pres- 
ent separation,  than  I  have  ever  before  experienced. 
Though  I  have  ever  felt  this  deeply,  yet  I  have  but  lit- 
tle reaUzed  the  certain  arrival  of  a  period,  when,  in 
some  future  visit,  you  would  not  be  one  of  the  number 


..„,y.-. 


-''W"-'  ■■"■ 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


207 


to  hasten  to  meet  me.  O,  what  a  chill  comes  over 
my  heart  when  I  think  of  it ;  it  seems  to  be  more 
than  I  could  bear ;  but  I  need  not,  I  will  not  pain  my- 
self in  imagining  such  an  hour.  God  has  graciously 
spared  you  now,  and  I  will  try  even  to  forget  that  I 
cannot  many  times  go  and  come,  and  find  all  un- 
changed ;  or  that  you,  my  dear  father,  may  be  taken 
away  in  an  hour  which  I  know  not  of,  when  I  should 
be  too  far  away  to  hope  to  be  with  you,  even  at  the 
last.  May  God  bless  you  abundantly,  and  spare  your 
life,  is  the  warm  response  of  my  heart  at  every  thought 
of  you.  I  am  thankful  for  the  gratifying  manifestations 
of  friendship  which  you  received,  and  in  this  matter,  I 
can  say  with  pleasure,  inasmuch  as  it  was  done  to  you, 
it  was  done  to  me.  Please  r^*^-  mber  me  gratefully  to 
those  kind  friends  '•  li*  jo»pe<.  .  I  am  thankful  too, 
tor  the  peaceful  stuie  of  your  mmd,  in  the  moment  of 
your  danger.  I  fear  no  evil  for  you  ;  living  or  dying, 
I  trust  you  are  the  Lord's.  I  can  only  effectually  si- 
lence my  murmuring  thoughts  at  the  separation  of  our 
lot  in  time,  by  a  glance  to  eternity,  where  this  trial 
will 

'  Fly  forgotten, 
As  a  dream  dies  at  the  opening  day.' 

'Remember  me.' — We  will  live  in  love  to  each  other, 
and  believe  that  death  itself  cannot  destroy  this  love." 


Among  the  friends  who  so  kindly  sympathized  with 
her  in  the  afflictions  to  which  she  had  been  subjected, 
the  Miss  Patten,  already  mentioned,  was  high  on  the 


208 


MEMOIR    OF   MRS. 


list,  to  whom,  in  this  letter  to  her  father,  she  addressed 
the  brief,  though  characteristic  note  following ; 


Dear  Catharine, —  I  cannot  resist  the  temptation 
of  sending  you  a  '  miniature '  scale  of  my  thouj^hts  of 
you  ;  but  I  am  so  apt  to  wander  wide,  to  try  forbidden 
paths,  that  I  may  go  over  the  whole  of  this  little  en- 
closure, and  yet  leave  almost  all  unsaid  which  I  would 
wish  to  say.  I  am  very  far  away  from  you,  yet  you 
would  be  surprised  to  know  how  often  I  am  really  with 
you.  There  is  a  quiet  little  domain,  unmeasured  by 
miles,  unruled  by  change  or  absence,  to  which  I  often 
resort,  and  find  pleasure  with  the  few  Boston  friends 
whom  I  much  love.  First,  T  there  meet  my  honored 
and  beloved  father,  and  our  own  family  circle,  then  those 
always  most  welcome  in  it,  and  now  most  dear  to  me 
from  association  with  mother's  sweet  memory.  I  cu:  - 
not  tell  you  how  unalterably  I  feel  myself  interested  and 
connected  with  such  ;  it  is  ever  delightful  to  think  about 
them.  I  need  not  attempt  to  specify  here  —  but  your- 
self, Catharine,  I  place  among  the  very  first ;  Pamelia 
and  Anne,  [Miss  Anne  Nuttii.g,]  Mrs.  Motley  and  Dr. 
Snow  seem  nearest,  as  linked  in  memory  with  the  last 
days  of  her  life.  Then  come  others,  belonging  to 
other  scenes,  of  whom  I  wish  I  knew  now  more  par- 
ticularly. Then  again,  (many  in  one,)  the  '  Friendly 
society  ;'  I  have  as  much  interest  in  its  prasperity  as 
at  any  period  of  my  connection  with  it.  So  you  have 
had  a  '  tea  meeting ! '  I  give  you  joy.  I  knew  you 
could  but  succeed  well  in  it.  Did  you  ever  know  a 
Wesleyan  scheme  to  fail  ?  I  give  you  great  credit 
for  your  courage  and  perseverance.     How  delightedly 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


209 


my  eyes  lingered  again  and  again  upon  the  account  of 
it  in  the  Herald ;  and  how  gladly  would  I  have  given 
the  price  of  a  dozen  tickets  to  have  been  one  of  the 
favored  company.  But  1  must  banish  such  thoughts. 
I  have  my  blessings,  my  duties  —  you  have  yours, 
awhile  —  then  comes  the  end.  Here  our  banished 
thoughts  may  rest. 

A  summons  has  come  for  my  letter,  please  excuse  all. 
Very  truly  yours,  Hannah. 

Thus  did  she  continue  most  tenderly  to  cherish  the 
warmest  affection  for  her  friends  and  kindred  in  her 
own  beloved  land.  But  she  was  cheerful  and  happy  in 
her  discharge  of  the  duties  assigned  her  by  Providence ; 
and  felt  and  manifested  for  those  whom  Providence 
had  made  her  kindred  and  friends  in  her  adopted 
country,  the  sincere  and  ardent  attachment  of  a  gen- 
erous and  affectionate  heart.  Speaking  of  her  relation 
to  them,  she  says  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Pickard's  sisters, 
Mrs.  Coburn  and  Mrs.  Smith ; 


(( 


I  hope  you  will  frequently  send  your  thoughts 
after  us.  I  often  feel  very  unworthy  of  any  claim  to 
your  affection,  yet  I  would  gladly  win  it.  Let  us  love 
like  sisters.  You  seem  peculiarly  near  to  me  for 
Humphrey's  sake,  and  highly  esteemed  for  your  own. 
I  can  scarcely  realize  that  there  was  ever  a  time  in 
which  we  had  not  the  same  relationship  which  we  now 
hold  to  each  other." 


She  renewed  the  expression  of  her  kindred  feelings 

18* 


210 


MEMOIR    OF   MRS. 


in  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Coburn,  dated  April  15th,  in  which 
she  also  expresses  her  deep  interest  in  Mrs.  C.'s  reli- 
gious state,  and  discloses  somewhat  of  her  own. 


• 


My  dear  Sister. —  Your  very  kind  letter  to  me  of 
the  2d  inst.,  was  duly  and  most  welcomely  received. 
I  am  sure  I  cannot  express  to  you  the  true  comfort  it 
gave  me ;  nor  do  I  design  these  few  lines  as  any  thing 
by  way  of  return  or  compensation  for  your  favor.  It 
is  Saturday  afternoon,  hastening  to  night,  and  there 
are  some  domestic  matters  which  will  need  obtrude  to 
shorten  my  converse  with  you  now  ;  please  to  expect 
little  where  little  can  be  given. 

Before  the  arrival  of  your  letter,  I  had  been  wishing 
long  for  it,  and  was  much  gratified  to  learn  that  all 
within  your  home  are  well ;  but  would  that  I  could  see 
you.  I  never  wished  it  more  than  now  —  how  much 
I  would  like  to  talk  long  and  freely  with  you  upon  that 
subject  in  which  you  appear  so  interested.  You  ask 
my  views  about  it ;  but  had  I  time  and  space  I  could 
not  satisfy  myself  in  communicating  them.  How  I 
should  like  to  have  you  here,  that  we  might  question 
and  reply  with  each  other.  There  is  something  like  a 
charm  to  me  in  the  very  word  '  Holiness ;'  and  when 
I  hear  it  alluded  to,  I  f.an  compare  my  emotions  to 
nothing  else  so  well,  as  to  those  produced  by  messages 
from  home  —  so  welcome,  so  pleasant.  My  mind  has 
been,  of  late,  almost  constantly  desirous  to  attain  the 
blessing,  and  often  eager  for  it ;  yet  it  seems  to  myself 
hypocrisy  and  inconsistency  for  me  to  expect  it.  I  am 
BO  strongly  under  unrighteous  dominion,  that  shadows 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


'211 


of  despair  sometimes  enclose  me,  not  only  relative  to 
this,  but  covering  every  hope  of  heaven.  Sometimes 
I  receive  delightfully  applied  words  of  scripture  which 
bring  with  them  lucid  intervals,  and  almost  kindle  faith 
to  be  saved  from  all. 

*  But,  ah  !  how  soon  it  dies  away.'  I  am  thankful 
that  I  feel  that  nothing  but  holiness  can  save,  or  is  to 
me  truly  desirable.  I  am  thankful  for  your  prayers ; 
you  have  mine,  especially  since  your  last  communica- 
tion. You  may  well  hope.  I  believe  you  may  en- 
courage yourself  in  the  Lord,  not  only  rejoicing  in  the 
grace  wherein  you  stand,  but  in  hope  of  what  shall  be 
revealed  in  you.     Please  to  write  soon  again. 

I  am  happy  that  we  are  to  expect  our  honored 
father  and  perhaps  Mrs.  P.  with  him ;  it  will  give  me 
great  pleasure.  How  is  sister  E.  ?  You  tell  me  noth- 
ing of  her,  and  she  tells  me  nothing  herself.  I  hope 
she  and  Mr.  Smith  are  on  the  lists  for  summer  too. 
Please  to  remember  me  to  them  affectionately.  Thom- 
as we  are  soon  to  see.  I  will  reserve  all  compliments 
for  himself  till  then.  Of  course,  it  is  more  than  com- 
mon compliments,  I  send  you  all.  Love  to  Mr.  Coburn 
and  the  children.    ,  Truly  yours, 

H.  M.  P. 


It  is  gratifying  to  find  that  though  our  sister  had 
not,  at  this  time,  the  evidence  of  full  acceptance,  she, 
nevertheless,  maintained  her  interest  in  the  subject, 
and  love  for  its  enjoyment.  It  was  now  long  since, 
through  temptation  and  unbelief,  she  had  forfeited  this 
evidence ;  but  she  could  neither  excuse  herself,  nor  be 


5IO 


MEMOIR    OF    MRS. 


! 


happy,  in  its  loss.  If  the  Savior  upbraided  his  disci- 
ples for  their  unhchef,  easily  may  we  suppose  that  her 
heart  did  not  fail  to  upbraid  her,  when  we  consider  the 
blessed  lij^ht  of  experience  in  which  she  had  formerly 
walked.  She  realized,  indeed,  the  guilt  and  danger  of 
remaining  thus  destitute  of  the  Spirit's  testimony  ;  and 
was  led,  at  last,  by  the  force  of  this  conviction,  to 
renewed  dedication  of  herself  to  God,  and  renewed 
faith  in  the  all-sufHcient  merit  of  Jesus'  blood.  It 
was  not,  however,  till  the  latter  part  of  this  year  that 
she  obtained  again  the  "  full  assurance  of  faith  and 
hope." 

At  the  close  of  the  term,  and  during  the  session  of  the 
District  meeting  in  St.  John,  whither  she  accompanied 
husband,  she  made  an  unexpected  and  hasty  visit  to 
her  friends  in  Boston  and  Chelsea.  Her  health  had 
somewhat  declined,  through  the  severity  of  the  climate, 
her  ceaseless  attention  to  the  comfort  of  her  family, 
and  her  generous  anxiet}  for  the  prosperity  of  the  In- 
stitution ;  and  it  was  hoped  that  the  voyage  would 
prove  beneficial,  though  her  visit  should  be  brief.  She 
arrived  in  Boston,  on  Friday  morning,  and  set  out  on 
her  return  by  the  same  boat,  the  next  day  in  the  after- 
noon. Her  return  was  hastened  in  order  that  she 
might  accompany  her  husband  to  Sackville,  where 
preparations  were  to  be  made  for  the  appointed  com- 
mencement of  the  Academy,  and  for  the  Inua>j:ii.Htion 
of  the  Principal.  This  short  interview  wna  i«.i*  of 
interest  to  her,  and  equally  gratifying  to  her  family. 
To  them  the  remembrance  of  it  affords  a  melancholy 
r'iifsfaction,  as  it  was  the  last  time  they  were  permitted 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


213 


to  look  upon  her  beloved  form,  and  to  enjoy  the  ddight 
of  her  society. 

The  formal  opening  of  the  Academy  took  place  on 
the  29th  of  June,  on  wliich  interesting  occasion,  Mrs. 
Pickard  shared  in  the  general  high  feeling  of  pleasure 
and  gratitude  which  was  inspired  by  the  services  and 
c'ticnmstances  of  the  day.  Nor  was  her  interest  lim- 
ited to  feeling,  but  in  the  agreeable  and  delicate  atten- 
tions with  which  she  received  and  entertained,  in  the 
drawing-room,  and  at  table,  a  numerous  company  of 
visitors,  she  shed  a  delightful  influence  to  complete  the 
pleasure  of  the  ceremony. 

With  the  same  humble  and  childlike  submissioi  to 
Providential  guidance,  as  had  before  characterized  her 
spirit,  and  with  untiring  devotion  to  the  duties  which 
seemed  necessarily  to  devolve  on  her  in  consequence  of 
the  illness  of  Mrs.  Des  Brisay,  wife  of  the  Governor  and 
Chaplain,  she  continued  to  contribute  the  full  measure 
of  her  ability  to  the  prosperity  of  the  Institution.  The 
great  desire  of  her  life  in  latter  years  had  been  to  be 
useful ;  and  she  thought  that  in  no  situation  had  she 
been  placed  where  she  could  do  as  much  good  as  in 
the  one  which  she  now  occupied.  She,  therefore, 
cheerfully  fulfilled  her  allotted  labors,  and  rejoiced  to 
anticipate  a  time,  which  seemed  to  her  not  distant, 
when  she  should  find  rest  from  all  her  toils  in  a  sweet 
home  on  high.  While  thus  satisfying  her  own  mind 
in  the  discharge  of  duty,  she  was  winning  the  highest 
esteem,  and  fondest  regard  of  all  around  her,  by  the 
true  modesty,  and  humility,  and  unafTecied  grace,  of 
her  temper  and  deportment.     To  the  family  of  the 


314 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


Governor  and  Chaplain,  of  the  Missionary  on  the  Cir- 
cuit, and  of  the  several  friends  who  frequented  the 
Academy,  as  well  as  to  the  whole  Academical  family, 
she  became  most  affectionately  endeared.  .  Even  the 
farmers'  wives,  who  merely  brought  to  the  Institution 
the  produce  of  their  farms  for  sale,  would  make  the 
familiar  yet  significant  remark,  "  I  never  saw  so  taking 
a  woman  as  Mrs.  Pickard."  An  observation  which 
she  made  to  Mrs.  Des  Brisay,  distinctly  indicates  the 
profound  sense  which  she  had  of  her  own  imperfec- 
tions, as  well  as  the  sincere  charity  with  which  she 
would  excuse  the  faults  of  others.  "  When  I  look," 
said  she,  "at  my  own  deficiencies,  I  cannot  bear  to 
reprove  the  faults  of  my  domestics." 

She  most  eagerly  enjoyed  the  services  of  the  sanctu- 
ary ;  and,  in  the  midst  of  her  engagements,  found  time, 
too,  to  attend  the  weekly  class,  in  which  she  was  mu- 
tually blessing  and  blessed.  She  had  for  her  leader  an 
aged  local  preacher.  Rev.  Mr.  Avard,  who  had  fre- 
quently been  a  companion  with  Dr.  Clarke,  and  had 
often  listened  to  the  discourses  of  the  venerable  John 
Wesley  himself.  With  this  aged  servant  of  Christ, 
and  his  very  intelligent  wife  —  though  a  lady  of  ninety 
years  —  she  took  sweet  counsel,  and  afforded  them,  in 
turn,  refresliing  consolation  by  the  vivacity  of  her 
spirit,  and  the  ardor  of  her  piety.  With  what  thrilling 
delight  would  this  old  soldier  of  the  cross  recount  the 
earlier  days  of  Methodism  ;  and  hovs^  does  the  sight  of 
such  an  individual  serve  distinctly  to  mark  the  wonder- 
ful progress  of  the  work  of  God,  through  the  instru- 
mentalitv  of  that  honored  and  devoted  servant  of  the 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


215 


Lord  Jesus  —  the  Rev.  John  Wesley.  But  little -more 
than  a  century  ago,  the  first  Methodist  society  was 
fornned  in  London,  consisting  of  eight  or  ten  members, 
and  lo !  "  What  hath  God  wrought."  O  that  as  a 
people,  our  gratitude,  and  love,  and  zeal  bore  some  due 
proportion  to  the  wonders  of  His  hand,  and  the  bless- 
ings of  His  grace. 

The  four  following  letters,  or  parts  of  letters,  are  the 
last  but  one  which  will  be  presented  from  her  pen. 
They  show  that  her  heart  of  friendship  was  all  alive 
to  sentiments  of  affection,  to  remembered  joys,  and  to 
scenes  of  tender  interest.  Her  feeling  on  the  subject 
of  personal  holiness  very  much  increased  during  the 
latter  part  of  this  year  ;  and  the  reader  will  find  in  the 
next  chapter,  a  most  satisfactory  relation  of  the  renewal 
>f  her  evidence  of  full  redemption — a  most  valuable 
Tiemorial,  as  it  appears  to  be  the  last  record  which  she 
3ver  made  in  her  journal.  It  may  be  proper  to  ob- 
serve that  these  letters  are,  like  herself,  full  of  emotion, 
varying  from  the  sportive  and  imaginative,  to  the  most 
grave  and  devout. 


TO    HER    SISTER. 

August  8tli,  1843. 

My  dear  Sister,  —  Mr.  and  Mrs.  B.  called  this 
evening,  and  informed  me  that  they  should  leave  Sack- 
ville  in  the  morning,  for  Boston ;  the  information 
almost  distracted  me  for  a  few  minutes,  and,  I  believe, 
I  am  scarcely  recovered  yet.  We  are  getting  on  very 
'  pleasantly ;  my  health  is  improving.     I  hope  you  can 


msf 


316 


MEMOIR    OF   MRS. 


I 


give  me  as  good  a  report  of  yourself  and  Edward.  I 
often  disturb  myself,  when  I  might  be  very  happy, 
about  some  of  you.  I  cannot  give  one  of  you  up ;  I 
think  I  love  you  the  more  the  longer  I  live.  I  hope 
father  will  write  to  me,  if  it  be  but  a  few  lines,  tell 
him  —  for  old  acquaintance  sake.  Has  Joanna  been 
on  yet,  this  summer  ?  I  would  be  glad  to  see  her  once 
again.  Give  love  to  Sarah  (Mrs.  Sarah  Maynard)  and 
family.  Give  much  love  to  the  little  boys ;  tell  them 
I  can  think  of  but  one  incident  for  them. 

A  few  days  ago  —  one  Saturday,  about  sunset,  as 
Mr.  P.  and  I  were  returning  from  a  visit,  five  or  six 
miles  from  home,  we  passed  through  a  piece  of  woods 
which  had  been  burnt  sometime  before.  The  trees 
were  still  standing  without  a  leaf  from  root  to  top,  and 
stumps  stood  thick  between  ;  they  had  become  white 
by  the  rain  and  sun.  As  we  came  near  we  heard  a 
noise,  and  there  were  collected  thousands  of  crows  — 
every  branch  and  stump  was  occupied  by  these  black- 
coats  for  acres  ;  and  the  greatest  '  cawing '  there  was  ; 
every  one  in  the  assembly  was  speaking  his  mind. 
And  they  were  coming  in  files  from  every  direction. 
Long  after  we  left  them,  we  met  a  party  of  them  high 
up  in  the  clouds,  beating  their  way  along  towards  the 
place  of  meeting ;  these  seemed  like  strangers,  and 
once  appeared  to  lose  their  track,  but  soon  turned 
again,  and  kept  steadily  on  in  the  right  direction.  We 
were  much  interested  to  think  about  the  matter.  We 
concluded  that  all  the  crows  in  the  district  must  have 
been  present.  Edward  and  Franky  can  talk  about  it, 
and  conjecture  what  brought  them  all  together.     They 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


217 


must  have  come  by  appointment  too,  else  they  could 
not  all  have  been  there  ;  they  must  also  have  known 
the  time  and  place.  If  the  children  enjoy  querying 
about  it,  as  much  as  we  did,  they  will  not  be  sorry  I 
told  them  of  it.  The  next  morning  three  crows  came 
and  lighted  on  the  fence  near  my  window.  My  first 
impulse  was  to  ask  them,  what  was  the  meeting  about? 
for  no  doubt  they  were  there.  But  they  seemed  well 
satisfied  to  keep  the  secret  among  themselves,  strutted 
about  a  few  minutes,  and  then  flew  off  to  enjoy  some 
potato-tops. 

Last  evening  I  scribbled  on  thus  far,  and  suppose  I 
must  send  it  as  it  is.  Remember  me  to  Mrs.  Town. 
Tell  her  I  think  of  her  often.  I  can  always  hear  her 
voice,  and  see  her  eyes  sparkling.  I  hope  she  is  well. 
When  shall  we  meet  again  ?  Sometimes  I  think.  Gen- 
eral Conference  is  a  very  attractive  affair.  But  it  is 
nothing  that  concerns  me,  you  know. 

With  much  affection,  Yours  truly, 

H.    M.    PiCKARD. 


TO    MISS    HILL. 


Sept.  13,  1843. 
Dear  Pamelia, 

A  favorable  moment,  and  a  favorable  opportunity 
of  communication  with  you,  now  smile  upon  me,  which 
I  gladly  accept,  though  the  moment  should  stay  no 
longer  than  to  permit  me  to  assure  you  that  I  have  not 
forgotten  the  kindest,  best-loved  friend  I  ever  had  be- 
yond the  limits  of  our  own  family.  Often  I  tlynk  of 
19 


218 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


you  with  tears  of  affectionate  remembrance ;  and, 
though  I  may  never  be  allowed  to  do  more  than  this, 
I  shall  love  to  do  this  until  we  meet  where  tears  are 
no  more  a  symbol  of  sacred  remembrance  and  affec- 
tion ;  there  we  shall  surely  soon  meet  —  how  sweet 
the  thought ! 

I  think,  aside  from  your  disinterested  kindness,  one 
thing  whicli  will  ever  associate  you  to  my  mind  in 
most  distinguished,  sweet  remembrance,  is  this  picture 
of  mother  ever  before  me,  and  the  connected  scenes. 
I  can  forget  Boston — all  its  beauty  and  its  business, 
but  I  cannot  forget  you  and  other  kind  friends  so  as- 
sociated. 

I  hope  to  hear,  through  father  or  Emma,  that  you  are 
well,  being  in  every  way  much  benefitted  by  your 
journey  westward  ;  and  that  you  have  restored  comfort 
and  facility  in  pursuing  your  *'  blessed  art,  which  can 
immortalize."  Poor  Catharine,  I  am  truly  pained  for 
her.  She  has  been  the  faithful  and  hospitable  nurse 
of  invalids ;  I  hope  the  hand  of  sickness  may  press  but 
lightly  upon  her.  We  should  in  vain  try  to  supply 
her  place  in  society.  When  she  returns,  please  to  re- 
mem!)er  me  most  affectionately  to  her,  as  one  very 
earnestly  desirou?  for  her  long  life  and  happiness  ;  the 
last,  however,  if  need  be,  without  the  first. 

Present  grateful  remembrance  to  Mrs.  Motley  and 
family,  when  you  have  opportunity  ;  to  Anne  also.  If 
her  mother  did  not  require  her  presence,  I  should  be 
at  once  soliciting  her  society  with  us  for  as  many 
months  as  she  would  please.  Regards  to  B.  F.  N. 
also.     Mr.  Pickard  desires  to  be  especially  mentioned 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


219 


to  his  friend,  Miss  Hill.  He  always  joins  with  much 
interest  in  conversations  of  you,  and  often  interrupts  a 
silence  by  wishing  you  were  here.  The  second  anni- 
versary of  your  service  to  us  is  fast  approaching,  and 
finds  us  both  well,  pleasingly  employed,  and  with  an 
accumulated  amount  of  happiness  to  the  last.  I  hope 
all  our  friends  of  other  days  are  well  and  happy. 

Dear  Pamelia,  many  things  are  in  my  heart  to  say 
to  you.  Gladly  could  I  fill  up  these  small  pages 
with  words  drawn  from  that  source ;  but  the  moment 
has  fied.  Summoning  all  in  an  ardent  wish  for  the 
prosperity  of  whatever  appertains  to  you,  believe  me, 
Most  affectionately, 

You/  true  friend, 

H.    M.    T.    PiCKARD. 


TO    HER    SISTER. 


Oct.  3l8t,  184a 
Mt  dear  Sister, 

I  perceive  that  your  last  good,  though  hasty  letter 
bears  date  of  28th  Sept.;  and,  at  this  long  interval 
from  that,  I  seize  a  few  wearied  moments,  and  the  best 
materials  I  have  at  hand,  to  say  a  few  words  to  you ; 
manner  and  execution  we  long  ago  proved  to  be  vain 
in  comparison  with  the  indispensable  and  acceptable 
spirit.  I  may  premise  that  we  are  very  well ;  would, 
indeed,  that  I  could  look  in  upon  you  or  father,  or 
both,  to-night,  and  know  how  you  are  each  situated. 

Let  me  give  you  some  idea  of  our  late  journey. 
[To  Fredericton.]     We  left  home  at  the  appointed 


■V  -.-.^  w^:^r^fni;^!^  p  "!?"«?■ 


4f. 


«20 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


i 


time  with  a  fine  morning  sky,  two  good  horses,  and  a 
covered  carriage  —  it  might  not  have  been  mistaken, 
on  scrutiny,  for  one  of  the  Governor'  suite,  but  it  was 
very  suitable,  and  comfortable  as  a  bird's  nest.  Caro- 
line, with  the  baby  and  myself  occupied  the  back  seat, 
and  Mr.  Pickard  the  front  with  whip  and  reins.  The 
trip  altogether  was  new  to  me.  Across  land  to  Fred- 
ericton  the  distance  is  about  two  hundred  miles.  We 
went  one  way,  and  returned  another.  The  roads 
across  the  province  are  well  made,  but,  for  the  most 
part,  leading  through  portions  of  country  unsettled,  or 
sparsely  peopled,  with  here  and  there  a  log  hut,  or  pos- 
sibly an  assemblage  of  them,  occupied  by  a  community 
of  French  people,  who,  in  prevailing  costume,  lift  their 
straw  hats,  and  pass  a  *'  bon  jour "  to  each  traveller  as 
he  gazes  after  them.  Almost  limitless  tracts  of  forest 
were  sometimes  around  and  in  sight  of  us,  the  oldcist, 
and  darkest,  and  wildest,  upon  which  axe  had  never 
been  lifted.  So  dense  it  was,  that  I  could  easily 
imagine  it  might  some  time  become  a  coal  mine,  for  it 
would  be  strange  indeed,  that  it  should  ever  fall  before 
any  other  speculation.  As  we  passed  along,  we  got 
no  sight  of  the  citizen-animals,  save  one  bald  eagle 
upon  a  leafless  tree,  one  partridge,  and  a  fox  as  he 
leaped  over  some  high  ferns.  One  morning  we  saw 
in  the  road,  the  remnants  of  a  sheep,  upon  which  we 
concluded  a  bear  had  made  his  early  repast ;  none, 
however,  had  crossed  our  path.  With  every  thing  fa- 
vorable, and  well  accommodated  when  we  stopped  for 
entertainment,  we  had  a  truly  pleasant  time,  and 
reached  the  beautiful   town    of   Fredericton  on  the 


1 
i 

a 

c 


^^^^j^r^i^tak.iuia.^iii,atj^a^ 


'laJWl1lii»^l^i•»fi^^^^^^^^*«^->^  .•>i^^:^-,■iJ.l~rU 


^i/.iLkiJ>e^i\^'^^.ii,]iftiaii'r^^-'~^-i'^^  ■■  ■■ 


^»ttfiai^T^I^ayH'ii-T.ii^<f.fiti^"^'iti-iiVifrfl 


7  ■■'■ 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


221 


iLbc, 


third  day.  We  were  there  about  a  week,  visiting  con- 
stantly ;  then  put  our  horses,  etc.  on  board  the  steam- 
boat, and  canie  to  St.  John,  where  we  passed  one  day 
only  with  our  very  valuable  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Owens.  From  their  house  we  were  out  some  more 
than  two  days,  in  the  most  pelting  rain  storm  with 
which  the  country  has  been  visited  for  years.  It 
seemed  almost  true,  that  the  fountains  of  the  deep  had 
been  broken  up  once  more,  as  all  higli  lands  were 
pouring  with  water,  and  all  low  lands  looked  like  lakes. 
The  last  part  of  our  way,  the  roads  became  quite  fear- 
ful from  the  injury  to  bridges,  and  from  the  depth  of 
water  we  were  obliged  to  ford  ;  it  appeared  almost  that 
"  our  lives  were  in  our  hands."  I  did  then  and  still 
do  realize  that  had  not  the  hand  of  the  Almighty  been 
with  us  emphatically,  we  could  not  have  reached  our 
home  so  comfortably  and  so  safely. 

I  cannot  but  believe  that  He  has  work  here  for  us 
to  do,  and  especially  designed  ;  —  it  is  a  solace  and  a 
confidence  to  me,  whenever  I  am  tempted  to  desire 
some  other  situation,  or  to  become  disheartened  at  the 
difficulties  of  this.  Had  not  my  previous  education, 
and  circumstances  in  life  been  such  as  they  were,  I  am 
persuaded  I  could  never  have  been  as  useful  in  the 
place  which  I  now  fill ;  and  as  I  yiink  of  that  evident 
preparation,  and  doubt  whether  I  was  ever  doing  more 
good  than  now,  I  can  neither  repine  at  nor  resist  the 
Providence  which  has  placed  me  here.  I  would  si  ill 
infinitely  rather  move  as  He  directs,  though  it  may  bo 
across  other  inclinations,  than  attempt  to  make  out  ii.y 
own  way.  Let  Him  do  as  He  likes. 
19* 


•^y^'rmr.  ' 


222 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


Sometimes  Humphrey  talks  of  going  next  summer 
to  be  at  the  Commencement  at  Middletown,or  at  Gen- 
eral Conference,  but  I  think  it  most  doubtful ;  at  least, 
I  dare  not  flatter  myself  with  the  delight.  I  fear  H. 
would  never  consent  to  my  commencing  the  journey 
alone.  You  know,  I  never  think  about  it  at  all,  yet 
"  we  shall  see."  But  if  you  come,  it  will  the  more 
reconcile  me ;  indeed  I  don't  think  1  should  give  it  up 
without  effort,  should  you  disappoint  me.  O  what 
should  we  say  to  each  other  ?  I  must  not  think  of  it. 
I  should  soon  begin  to  ask.  Shall  we  ever  live  near 
each  other  again  ?  perhaps,  a  sadder  question,  Shall 
we  ever  meet  again  ?  Do  now,  Emma,  write  me  a 
good,  full  letter,  whenever  you  can  get  time;  tell  me 
all  about  yourselves,  and  this  one  and  that  one.  Love 
to  all  yours  and  ours. 

Truly  your  obliged  and  loving  sister, 

Hannah. 


TO    MRS.    OWENS. 


Nov.  1843. 
My  dear  Mrs.  Owens. 

Your  last  affectionate  letter  did  me  a  great  deal 
of  good,  as  do  all  the  tokens  of  favor  I  receive  at  your 
hand.  I  am  sure  I  stm  thankful  to  my  heavenly  Father 
for  so  kind  a  friend,  and  I  cannot  allow  this  opportu- 
nity to  pass,  without  telling  you  so,  although  it  may 
seem  like  the  thousand  compliments  which  are  consid- 
ered becoming  in  letters  of  ordinary  sentiment.  How 
often,  indeed,  I  have  thought  of  you,  since  our  brief 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


2Sv 


interview  in  Portland.  I  always,  in  fancy,  see  you  as 
you  stood  in  the  open  door,  with  hands  spread  so  cor- 
dially towards  me,  as  I  walked  up  the  garden  ;  I  felt 
then  as  if  I  could  not  speak.  It  was  so  much  as  I  had 
often  seen  my  blessed  mother  meet  me,  that,  together 
with  the  welcome,  and  your  peculiar  personal  resem- 
blance to  her,  my  heart  filled,  and  I  can  never  recall 
the  scene  without  tears. 

If  you  can  favor  me  with  a  few  lines  by  Mr.  Allison, 
I  shall  be  very  glad,  and  I  hope  to  hear  that  your 
health  is  better  than  when  you  last  wrote.  I  hope  that 
you  may  long  yet  be  spared  to  promote  so  successfully 
the  happiness  of  your  family,  and  to  diffuse  the  bless- 
ings of  which  God  makes  you  steward.  I  cannot  but 
consider  you  in  your  circumstances  and  happy  relations 
in  life,  as  marked  with  His  especial  favor ;  and  I  trust 
that  this  favor  reaches  not  alone  through  the  life  which 
now  is,  but  onward,  O  the  thought !  through  the  scenes 
of  eternity.  Of  present  realities,  we  judge  by  outward 
signs ;  but  of  the  future  possessions,  and  true  riches  in 
that  better  world,  the  testimony  of  our  claim  is  only 
with  the  secrets  of  the  heart.  I  trust  you  have  there 
an  unfailing  one,  read  ever  by  the  eye  of  Him  who 
seeth  in  secret.  There  is  also  a  "  full  assurance  of 
hope"  given  to  perfect  faith,  to  which  you  alluded  in 
your  last  letter,  which  does  remove  all  fear  and  painful 
doubt.  When  I  read  your  expressions  of  desire  for 
this,  I  did,  indeed,  long  to  see  you,  as  possessing  feel- 
ings consonant  with  my  own.  God  withholds  no  grace 
from  persevering,  faithful  prayer.  Let  us  then  draw 
near  to  Him,  moment  by  moment,  in  that  ''  full  assur- 


224 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


ance  of  faith,"  and  take  continually  the  blessing  which 
He  gives.  In  Christ  He  gives  us  all  things,  "  pardon, 
and  holiness,  and  Heaven."  I  would  rejoice  to  sec 
you  standing  in  this  grace,  and  shedding  around  you 
the  influence  of  a  sanctified  life.  O,  remember  the 
"price  "  of  our  redemption,  and  first,  in  the  spirit  of 
humble,  entire  consecration, 

''Into  His  hands  all  things  resign," 

and  then  take  the  abounding  mercy  which  follows. 

Excuse  me,  my  dear  friend  ;  it  ill  accords,  I  know, 
with  my  own  worth  as  a  Christian,  to  attempt  to  teach 
others  in  this  matter;  but,  seeing  its  vast  importance, 
in  the  spirit  of  obligation  to  Him,  I  testify  to  you  His 
faithfulness  and  truth.  I  could  write  long  upon  the 
subject,  would  time  and  present  engagements  permit. 
May  the  Spirit  lead  you  and  yours  iito  all  truth.  I 
love  to  think  that  we  shall  live  together  again  in  Eter- 
nity. 

I  thank  you  again  for  your  kind  thoughts  concerning 
us.  We  are  in  usual  health.  I  think  I  bear  up  under 
the  burden  which  comes  upon  me,  better  than  Mr.  P. 
does  with  his  accumulated  labors.  We  have  now 
nearly  fifty,  in  all,  in  family  ;  and,  although  I  have 
never  yet  come  to  a  moment,  which  did  not  bring  its 
particular  care,  I,  as  well  as  the  others,  appear  to  be 
getting  on  very  comfortably.  You  will  doubtless  see 
Mr.  Allison,  and  may  learn  from  him  more  definitely, 
of  our  affairs. 

Mrs.  Des  Brisay  still  continues  very  comfortable ;  I 
think  quite  as  well  as  at  any  period  of  her  residence 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


225 


here.  Mr.  Des  Brisay  is  also  better  than  earlier  in  the 
season.  They  would  both,  I  am  sure,  desire  particular 
remembrance  to  you,  as  they  often  speak  of  you  both 
as  in  especial  regard.  Do  not  forget  me  to  Mr.  Owens, 
and  Miss  Sarah  ;  I  ever  place  them  among  my  best 
loved  friends  —  as  well  as  the  other  members  of  your 
f  imily.  To  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Duncan,  and  Mr.  Barber, 
please  to  present  my  best  regards.  I  will  not  burden 
you  with  messages  to  other  friends,  though  there  are 
many  whom  I  esteem  —  some  who  are  with  me  in 
warm  remembrance.     I  remain  most  affectionately, 

Your  obliged  friend, 

H.  M.  PiCKARD. 


226 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Regains  the  enjoyment  of  perfect  love.  Last  letter.  Birth  of 
another  boy.  Death  of  the  infant.  Her  anticipated  recovery 
and  visit.  Her  sudden  death.  Letters  of  Mr.  Pickard,  detailing 
the  circumstances.  Reflections  on  her  death.  Testimonials  of 
affectionate  respect. 


In  the  Autumn  of  1843,  Mrs.  Pickard  became  ex- 
ceedingly solicitous  to  regain  the  full  enjoyment  of 
*'  perfect  love."  She  had  formed  a  somewhat  familiar 
acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Des  Brisay,  to  whom  she  freely 
expressed  her  feelings.  Frequent  conversations  on  this 
subject  ripened  their  intercourse  into  most  intimate 
and  endearing  friendship.  Both  resided  under  the 
same  roof;  and  as  the  charge  of  her  numerous  family 
prevented  Mrs.  Pickard  from  much  out-door  visiting, 
she  found  a  ready  and  abundant  sympathy  in  Mrs. 
Des  Brisay,  who  entered  with  great  personal  interest 
into  the  relation  of  her  spiritual  desires  and  exercises. 
Christian  holiness  foruied  the  chief  subject  of  her  com- 
munication with  her  familiar  friend ;  and  thus  she 
showed  that,  though  obliged  to  devote  much  outward 
attention  to  other  things,  her  thoughts  were  engrossed 
with  matters  of  far  greater  consequence.  For  some 
time  she  struggled  hard  with  temptation  and  unbelief, 
until,  at  length,  she  found  complete  deliverance  from 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


221 


every  painful  doubt  and  fear,  and  was  enabled  to  re- 
joice in  tl  e  unclouded  testimony  of  full  acceptance 
with  God.  The  news  of  this  joyful  event  she  soon 
communicated  to  her  friend,  who  was  greatly  aHected 
and  edified  by  the  clear  and  circumstantial  character 
of  her  experience.  The  blessing  which  she  sought, 
she  found  in  the  same  way  as  before ;  but  retained  it 
in  peace  and  comfort,  all  through  the  remainder  of  her 
life.  We  are  favored  with  her  own  relation  of  this 
point  in  her  history  —  the  last  record  which  she  made 
in  her  journal.  It  exhibits  a  delightful  example  of  per- 
severing prayer,  and  of  appropriating  faith,  and  certain- 
ly serves  to  chide  the  lukewarmness  of  ordinary  Chris- 
tians.    The  day  of  the  month  is  not  given. 


"Saturday  night,  Nov.  1843.  —  A  week  of  unusual 
profit  and  peace  is  now  closing  around  me ;  how  de- 
lightful the  thought,  that  in  Heaven,  that  abode  of 
purity  and  highest  peace,  this  brief  record  of  my  un- 
worthy life  may  enter  without  discordance.  Long  has 
it  been  since  so  favored  a  portion  of  time  has  been 
mine  ;  and  now,  not  by  any  worthiness  of  my  own,  but 
by  the  gift  of  faith,  I  have  this  inestimable  inherit- 
ance. Temptations  abound,  but  grace  does  much  more 
abound.  I  give  myself  to  God,  in  a  perpetual,  un- 
conditional covenant,  and  He  has  become  mine  in  His 
atonement,  in  His  blessed  spirit,  in  the  consolations  of 
renewed  adoption. 

"  Convinced  of  the  sin  and  of  the  loss  of  remaining 
without  the  witness  of  entire  dedication,  I  did  firmly 
and  fully  resolve  to  give  up  all  to  God,  to  do  His  will 


::tT:'.:'"^'^7" 


228 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


and  not  my  own,  henceforth.  I  doubt  not  that  the 
Spirit  of  God  did  indeed  lead  me  thus  far,  but  through 
unbeHef  I  followed  not  on  to  the  evidence  of  full  ac- 
ceptance. I  continued,  nevertheless,  very  much  to 
desire  this,  and  from  day  to  day,  with  more  or  less 
fervor  of  soul,  renewed  the  consecration  of  my  little  all, 
until  about  four  weeks  had  passed  away.  Meantime, 
frequently  falling  before  sin,  and  realizing  that  every 
hindrance  to  my  deliverance  from  the  body  of  this 
death  lay  in  myself,  I  almost  despaired  of  deliverance 
from  so  deep  and  long  continued  evil.  But  O,  I  de- 
sired most  earnestly  to  be  the  Lord's,  for  the  sake  of 
being  His,  even  though  He  should  scf.cely  notice 
again,  as  among  His  children,  one  so  useless  and  utterly 
unworthy  as  myself.  Accordingly  I  ventured  to  repeat 
the  words  of  formal  consecration  while  at  the  throne 
of  grace,  feeling  that  if  it  should  please  the  infinitely 
righteous  God  to  bestow  upon  tne  through  His  Son 
peace  and  joy  in  believing,  all  were  well ;  but,  if  other- 
wise, all  were  well — I  would  still  give  myself  to  Him, 
knowing  that  'all  were  right  which  He  could  do.' 
After  doing  this,  however,  I  still  lingered  a  little  upon 
my  knees,  not  for  the  purpose  of  asking  any  thing 
further  then,  but  I  wanted  to  be  sure  of  my  sincerity, 
and  I  wished  God  to  be  sure  of  it.  I  was  prompted 
to  say — 'The  blood  of  Christ  be  a  witness  between 
me  and  Thee  of  this ;'  and  immediately  followed,  with 
a  sweetness  of  application  indescribable,  the  remem- 
brance of  these  words,  '  For  if  the  blood  of  bulls  and 
of  goats,  and  the  ashes  of  an  heifer  sprinkling  the  un- 
clean, sanctificth  to  the  purifying  of  the  flesh ;  how 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


229 


much  more  shall  the  blood  of  Christ,  who  through  the 
eternal  Spirit  offered  himself  without  spot  to  God, 
purge  your  conscience  from  dead  works  to  serve  the 
living  God.'  My  mind  was  satisfied,  and  rested  in  the 
efficacy  of  that  blood,  without  a  doubt.  Since  then 
I  feel  increasing  nearness  to  God,  and  I  long  to  be 
more  lost  in  Him..        , 

*  Only  to  live  my  God  to  love, 
My  God  to  glorify.' 

I  feel  the  Spirit  with  me,  and  long  to  be  led  by  Him 
to  greater  grace." 

The  following  letter,  which  was  the  last  received 
from  her  hand,  exhibits  a  mental  state  so  spiritual,  so 
ethereal,  as  almost  to  appear  like  a  premonition  and  an 
antedate  of  those  wonderful  realities  which  burst  upon 
the  soul,  as  it  quits  its  earthly  habitation,  and  soars  to 
brighter  worlds  above.  At  the  same  time  it  contains 
such  affectionate  longings  for  the  society  of  her  beloved 
family,  as  make  us  grieve  to  think  that  they  were  never 
to  be  realized. 


Sackville.  N.  B.,  Jan.  15, 1844. 

My  ever  dear  Sister, 

Many,  many  days  I  hove  been  in  your  debt,  for 
an  excellent  and  undeservedly  affectionate  letter;  and, 
by  each  of  the  seldom  mail  opportunities  which  have 
intervened,  have  felt  that  I  must  do  something  in  my 
poor  way,  which  you  would  accept  as  an  acknowl- 
20 


Q30 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


edgement  and  return.      If  you  could  read  my  daily 
thoughts  about  you,  and  know  how  heavily  and  fre- 
quently my  spirit  longs  after  you   all,  you  would  not 
suspect,  though  "  few  and  far  between "  my  letters 
have  been,  that  my  joys  had  ceased  to  be  connected 
with  the  joy  of  you  all.     You,  who  are  ^o  faithful 
alike  in  your  remembrances  and.letters,  may  then  won- 
der why  it  is  that  I  so  seldom  seek  this  most  satisfactory 
mode  of  communication  remaining  to  us.     I  cannot 
explain,  but  only  say,  that  whenever  I  think  of  writing 
to  you,  I  begin  to  get  so  sad,  that,  although  I  know  I 
am  sinning  agains*  the    "golden    rule,"  I   still  avail 
myself  from  time  to  time  of  the  relief  in  this  respect 
really  afforded  by  delay.     I  wish  it  were  otherwise,  and 
know  of  no  cause  which  may  seem  to  justify  it.     I  am 
not  generally  melancholy  or  discontented,  only  I  have 
not  forgotten  you.      My  heart  now  breaks  out  in  a 
prolonged  exclamation  —  O  that  I  could  sec  you  to- 
night; and  while,  for  an  instant,  I  catch  something 
like  a  glimpse  of  you,  and  seem  to  meet  you,  the  poor 
comfort  passes  away  in  all  the  uncertainty  and  conjec- 
ture of  one,  who  knows  but  little,  scarcely  anything. 
Are  you  sick  ?    are  you   well  ?    are  you  together  in 
Chelsea,  or  in  some  other  place  ?     And  father,  too,  I 
often  visit  with  similar  questions,  but  with  similar  un- 
satisfactoriness.     Well  it  must  be  so ;  one  real  comfort 
remains  which  I  do  not  forget. 

i 

"  One  there  is  whose  watchful  eye 
Guides  our  humble  destiny  ;  " 

and  a  bright  anticipation  stands  out  ^efore  me  in  the 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


231 


future  with  which  conjecture  and  uncertainty  may  not 
intermeddle  —  where  none  say  I  am  sick — where  are 
no  separations.  The  day  seems  very  near  ;  the  scenes 
very  real.  I  was  remarking  yesterday  to  Humphrey, 
that,  though  never  a  "  Millerite,"  I  yet  felt  something 
like  disappointment  that  the  year  had  passed,  and  all 
things  remained  as  they  were.  Without  looking  at  the 
state  of  the  world,  I  cannot  but  think  how  much  better 
to  be  altogether  "at  home."  Does  it  not  seem  so  to 
you,  Emma?  Life  is  such  a  turmoil,  and  its  close 
brings  so  calm  a  respite  ;  and  then  all,  to  be  all  together 
in  freedom  and  rest  with  the  pure  in  heart,  is  so  de- 
sirable. Surely  I  am  not  sad  in  these  thoughts,  and  I 
look  upon  my  circumstances  in  life  as  being  emphati- 
cally among  the  most  favored  of  Eve's  daughters ;  but 
no  circumstances  of  the  present  moment  are  to  be 
compared  with  those  which  "shall  be  revealed."  I 
will  not  obtrude  my  reflections  upon  you ;  I  hope  you 
will  excuse  them  for  occupying  so  early  a  place  at 
least,  but  they  came  uppermost  as  my  pen  went  on. 

I  know  of  nothing  to  interest  you  much  in  our 
affairs  at  present,  beyond  what  a  few  lines  would  com- 
municate to  you,  yet  if  your  ear  were  accessible,  no 
doubt  I  should  often  be  making  to  you  many  relations 
which  take  to  themselves  consequence  as  they  come 
and  go.  What  is  the  employment  of  each  day,  you 
can  in  some  degree  imagine,  when  I  tell  you  that  I 
find  each  night  that  I  have  accomplished  little  more 
than  watch  the  various  operations  of  the  domestic 
machinery  over  which  I  am  placed.  The  house  is  a 
large  one,  and  to  get  from  one  corner  lo  the  other, 


232 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


i. 


from  the  cellar  kitchen  to  the  chambers,  back  and  forth, 
are  journeys  not  to  be  performed  without  much  demand 
upon  time  in  themselves,  to  say  nothing  of  the  space 
necessary  for  revisions  and  directions  given  and  en- 
forced, etc.  Sometimes  the  wheels  begin  to  drag  heavi- 
ly, as  I  think  this  must  continue  another  term  ;  but  then 
as  the  prosperity  of  all  seems  to  demand,  I  am  happy  in 
contributing  my  quota,  magnified  by  circumstances,  to 
the  desirable  object.  H.  gets  into  a  fever  often  about  it, 
and  really  seems  to  see  my  health  declining,  and  days 
shortening  ;  but  I  am  not  so  perceptive.  My  health  is 
generally  good,  with  my  usual  capability  of  resistance 
of  colds  and  weariness.  Do  not  be  anxious  ever  on 
my  account ;  I  am  sure  a  special  Providence  attends 
my  steps  —  however  it  leads,  I  cheerfully  resign  myself 
as  favored. 

Since  commencing  this  letter  I  have  been  weiglicd 
down  with  severe  cold,  so  that  I  was  unable  to  finish 
it.  The  last  mail  which  came  brought  me  another  letter 
from  you  ;  it  had  been  a  fortnight  on  its  way.  It  was, 
however,  ns  if  just  from  your  hand.  I  could  have 
cried,  and  believe  I  did,  it  was  to  me  so  unexpected  and 
so  desirable.  I  am  rejoiced  for  all  the  good  which  at- 
tends you.  Poor  father,  wealth  could  not  buy  me 
another  pleasure  like  the  gratification  of  seeing  him  ; 
but  all  is  vague  now  to  my  mind  about  it.  I  cannot 
wait  to  explain,  as  H.  has  just  been  hurrying  me  lest  I 
shall  be  too  late  for  the  mail ;  but  I  do  not  see  now 
how  we  can  arrange  to  visit  you  together.  I  often 
think  and  speak  of  H.'s  going  on  to  General  Confer- 
ence, and  I  do  think  he  may  go.     I  as  often  suppose 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


333 


he  will  scarcely  consent  to  leave  me  behind,  notwith- 
standing the  obstacles  which  now  show  themselves  in 
the  distance.  However,  appearances  and  scenes  change 
so  many  times,  in  so  few  months,  that  I  am  not  dis- 
couraged at  least,  if  I  am  sometimes  delighted.  Excuse 
H.'s  hurry  for  this.  Love  to  all, 

Hannah. 


finish 
etter 
was, 
have 

;d  and 

ich  at- 
f  me 
him ; 

;annot 
lest  I 

e  now 
often 

lonfer- 

ippose 


Nothing  further  was  heard  from  her  till  the  latter 
part  of  February,  when  Mr.  Pickard  wrote  us  that  she 
had  given  birth  to  another  boy,  on  the  19th  of  that 
month,  but  was  as  well  and  comfortable  as  might  be 
expected.  In  the  same  communication  he  informed 
us  that  the  babe  was  an  exceedingly  frail  and  feeble 
child,  and  that  fears  were  entertained  of  its  early 
death.  We  were,  therefore,  not  disappointed  in  re- 
ceiving the  intelligence  contained  in  the  following  note 
from  him  ;  and  at  the  same  time,  were  highly  gratified 
to  learn  that  the  prospect  for  the  mother's  safe  recovery 
appeared  every  way  promising.  It  quite  relieved  any 
anxiety  which  we  had  felt  respecting  her,  and  left  no 
lingering  doubt  of  her  speedy  restoration.  The  note 
is  addressed  to  her  sister. 

Sackville,  March  1,  1844. 
My  dear  SrsTER, 

I  did  hope  to  secure  moments  enough  to-day  to 
write  what  might  pass  for  a  letter,  at  least,  in  the  esti- 
mation of  friendship  —  but  here  I  am  within  a  few 
minutes  of  mail  time,  and  nothing  done  to  secure  the 
realization  of  my  hope.  But  as  Hannah  says  you  will 
20* 


234 


MEMOIR    OF   MRS. 


I 


not  be  particular  at  such  a  time,  and  that  you  will  be 
glad  to  receive  even  two  or  three  lines  which  will  teJl 
you  something  about  her,  I  will  send  you  this  little 
sheet. 

I  am  very  glad  that  I  can  report  favorably  of  the 
health  of  my  invaluable  wife,  your  excellent  sister. 
She  is  gradually  recovering,  and  is  likely  to  do  well. 
The  little  stranger  is  no  longer  with  us  —  he  remained 
not  quite  a  week  ;  he  was  born  on  Monday  the  19th 
ult.,  at  eleven  and  a  half  o'clock,  A.  M.,  and  died  on 
the  following  Monday  morning,  at  half-past  three 
o'clock.  Hannah  begins  to  sit  up  a  little  each  day, 
but  has  been  and  continues  weak. 

She  sends  her  love  to  all,  and  wishes  me  to  say  that 
she  has  a  good  nurse,  and  every  thing  to  render  her 
recovery  safe,  etc.;  that  you  must  not  forget  your  en- 
gagement to  visit  us  this  summer.  If  you  will  promise 
to  return  with  us,  perhaps  we  will  take  a  run  on  in 
May.  If  you  knew  how  Hannah  longs  for  letters  from 
Boston,  you  would  write,  I  think,  more  frequently. 
I  am,  my  dear  sister,  your  unworthy 

but  affectionate  brother, 

H.    PiCKARD. 


We  had,  indeed,  thought  seriously,  sometimes,  of 
visiting  them  the  ensuing  summer ;  but  the  persuasion 
which  we  indulged  from  the  intimation  above  given 
that  they  might  come  on  in  May,  had  led  us  to  dismiss 
all  present  design  of  doing  so  that  year.  We  felt  a 
great  degree  of  cheerfulness  in  the  hope  of  hearing 
soon  that  her  health  was  fully  confirmed ;  and  began 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


235 


e  given 


to  anticipate  the  pleasure  we  should  again  enjoy  in 
their  society.  We  had  had  no  intimation  whatever, 
that  any  settled  disease  preyed  upon  her,  and  could 
not  but  suppose  that,  after  the  usual  term  of  weakness 
to  which  a  constitution  like  hers  would  be  subject,  at 
such  a  time,  she  would  recover  her  wonted  health  and 
strength.  We  knew  that  her  physical  system  was 
frail,  and  that  hei  labors  had  been  arduous ;  but  as 
she  had  constantly  affirmed  her  adequacy  to  the  task, 
and  her  belief  in  its  providential  allotment  as  her  duty, 
and  as  we  knew  her  husband's  desire  for  her  greater 
ease  and  comfort,  we  had  yielded  her  to  care  divine,  in 
the  persuasion  that  she  would  be  sustained  till  some 
satisfactory  arrangement  could  be  made  for  her  relief 
from  so  much  responsibility.  And  we  knew  not  but 
that,  already,  some  permanent  change  had  been  ef- 
fected in  her  department  of  domestic  care.  In  fine, 
none  of  her  friends  here  saw  any  thing  of  apprehen- 
sion in  the  future,  respecting  her.  The  reader  may 
judge  then,  how  great  must  have  been  our  consterna- 
tion to  learn  by  the  next  letter,  a  fortnight  after  the 
last,  that  rhe  was  actually  dead.  The  news  was  like 
thunder  bursting  in  sunshine  from  an  untroubled  and 
unclouded  sky,  and  filled  her  sister's  heart,  especially, 
with  dismay  and  sorrow  overwhelming.  Her  father, 
to  whom  she  was  tenderly  endeared  on  many  accounts, 
nevertheless  received  the  heavy  tidings  with  great 
Christian  firmness  and  resignation.  The  circumstances 
of  this  distressing  event,  are  detailed  in  two  letters 
from  her  husband,  one  to  her  father,  and  the  other  to 
her  sister.     To  her  father  he  writes, 


236 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


Sackville,  Mai'cli  12,  1844. 
My  dear  father  Thomi  son,    • 

I  know  not  how  to  be<4in  to  write,  for  tlie  hand  of 
the  Lord  is  pressing  heavily  »ipon  me !  I  feel  that  1 
ought  to  send  you  the  earliest  possible  intelligence  of 
the  passage  to  glory,  of  another  member  of  your  fami- 
ly, —  but  how  can  it  be  written  by  me,  how  can  it  be 
read  by  you !  Not  with  other  feelings  than  those  of 
unutterable  agony,  unless  we  rest,  meanwhile  by  faith, 
where  the  brighter  beams  of  that  glorious  gospel  which 
hath  brought  life  and  immortality  to  light,  fall  in 
noon-tide  strength.  I  am  striving  to  rest  there,  and, 
O  my  dear  father,  I  do  find  light  and  some  joy  there, 
although  thick  darkness  hath  settled  down  suddenly 
upon  every  earthly  scene.  Take  hold  afresh  upon  the 
hope  of  the  gospel,  and  then  realize  that  another  tie  to 
earth  is  gone.  Our  dear  Hannah  is  no  longer  of  earth  ! 
She  has  gone,  by  angel  bands  attended,  to  resume  con- 
nection with  her  sainted  mother,  and  the  throng  of 
glorified  spirits  in  the  Paradise  of  God. 

Her  death  was  in  a  moment,  and  utterly  unlooked 
for  by  us.  She  seemed  to  be  doing  delightfully  well 
during  the  fortnight  preceding  yesterday  morning,  was 
free  from  pain  and  distress,  and  seemed  to  be  gradually 
gathering  strength  ;  she  seemed  especially  well  on  Sat- 
urday and  Sunday,  and  on  Monday  morning,  until  after 
eight  o'clock.  She  had  sat  up  in  her  bed,  and  washed 
and  taken  her  breakfast,  and  was  preparing  to  be  lifted 
from  her  bed  to  a  sofa,  as  usual,  and  speaking  most 
cheerfully  of  her  feeling  so  well,  so  much  like  herself 
again  — and,  then,  in  a  moment,  asked  to  be  laid  down 


r-t  ■ 


HANNAH   M.    PICKARD. 


237 


of 


a  moment,  and  in  less  than  ten  minutes,  I  think,  ceased 
to  breathe.  She  fell  asleep  sweetly ;  there  was  no 
struggling,  no  stiffening  of  the  muscles,  a  mere  gasp  or 
»wo,  and  the  tyrant's  work  was  done.  So  unlike  death 
did  it  seem,  that  we  could  not  entirely  give  her  up  for 
several  hours ;  we  watched  by  her  bedside,  hung  over 
her  loved  form,  and  strove  by  every  possible  way  to 
win  her  back  to  life  —  but  alas  !  in  vain.    She  is  gone ! 

Her  sweet  voice  will 

My  pathway  through  life  is  so  dreary  and  desolate, 
that  I  dare  yet  scarcely  look  forward  to  it  at  all.  And, 
O,  the  little  boy,  how  can  a  mother's  kindly  care  be 
made  up  to  him  ?  My  heart  sinks  as  I  think  of  him  ; 
but  I  have  endeavored  anew,  at  the  bedside  of  the  one 
who  sleeps  in  Jesus,  to  give  myself  avid  my  all  in  be- 
Ueving  confidence  to  God.  I  will  trust  Him,  I  cannot 
now  trace  Him ; 

"  Behind  this  frowning  providence, 
He  hides  a  smiling  face." 

My  dear  father,  my  heart  is  full.  I  cannot  write  all 
to-day,  which  you  will  long  to  hear.  The  Sabbath 
before  her  death  was  a  very  pleasant  one  to  us  both. 
In  the  afternoon,  I  had  an  appointment  to  preach 
about  three  miles  from  home  ;  she  said,  as  I  left  her, 
she  was  sorry  to  have  me  go,  and  yet  glad.  I  lifted 
her  out  of  bed  to  the  sofa  just  before  I  started,  and 
thought  I  never  saw  her  look  so  well.  A  young  female 
friend,  who  has  been  spending  the  winter  with  us,  read 
several  portions  of  Holy  Writ,  and  some  hymns  to  her 
while  I  was  away.     She  welcomed  me  on  my  return,  a 


238 


MEMOIR   OF    MRS. 


little  before  sunset,  with,  if  possible,  more  than  her 
usual  kindness.  She  said  slie  had  seen  me  coming. 
(She  had  requested  her  attendants  to  draw  the  curtain 
aside,  and  wheel  the  sofa  round,  so  that  she  could  look 
down  the  road  for  me.)  I  spent  the  evening  at  her 
bedside,  and  we  talked  of  the  but  imaginary  future ; 
we  thought  the  danger  passed.  I  prayed  with  her  be- 
tween 8  and  9  o'clock,  and  bade  her  good  night. 
However,  when  I  came  up  to  go  to  bed  in  the  room 
opposite  to  hers,  she  sent  the  nurse  out  to  request  me 
to  look  in  again  for  a  moment.  She  asked,  whether 
Edward  was  sleeping  well ;  (lie  had  seemed  rather 
fretful  through  the  day  ;)  why  I  was  sitting  up  so  late  ; 
whether  any  thing  was  wrong?  I  told  her  it  was  only 
ten  o'clock,  and  every  thing  was  right.  She  said  she 
thought  it  was  much  later.  She  asked,  whether  I  felt 
discouraged  at  all  about  her  recovery  ?  I  told  her,  no, 
every  thing  seemed  encouraging.  She  said  she  want- 
ed to  hear  me  say  so  —  she  had  been  imagining  bad 
things,  and  had  got  nervous.  I  again  bade  her  good 
night,  and  retired  to  bed  ;  but  after  remaining  a  few 
moments,  returned  to  her  door,  and  asked  her  if  she 
would  like  to  have  me  remain  with  her.  She  said  she 
feared  I  would  not  rest  any,  but  seemed  so  much 
pleased  with  tlie  proposition,  that  I  stayed  with  her 
through  the  night.  She  slept  better  than  she  had  done, 
and  in  the  morning,  seemed  very  much  encouraged. 
We  talked  sometime  together  before  I  left  the  room 
for  breakfast. 

I  returned  with  the  little  boy,  to  give  her  his  morn- 
ing kiss,  which  he  did,  and  then,  earnest  to  get  to  the 


HANNAH   M.   PICKARD. 


239 


; 


breakfast  table,  he  said  "  by-by,"  and  I  turned  with 
him  to  the  door ;  but  after  reaching  it,  asked  him 
whether  he  had  not  another  kiss  for  Mama,  (she  seem- 
to  be  looking  after  him  so  anxiously.)  He  reached 
back,  and  I  held  him  down,  telling  her  to  take  a  kiss 
from  his  sweet  neck  ;  and  while  she  kissed  one  side,  I 
kissed  the  other.  And  this  was  our  last  interview,  un- 
til in  about  half  an  hour  or  a  little  more,  I  heard  a 
knock  on  the  floor,  and,  rushing  up  stairs,  found  her 
gasping  in  death  —  insensible  to  every  thing  external. 
She  had  continued  to  talk  in  the  same  cheerful  strain 
to  her  attendants  —  said  she  felt  more  like  herself,  etc., 
until  she  was  in  the  valley  of  death.  It  is  a  comfort 
to  know  that  her  passage  through  it  was  so  easy  and 
quick.  And  although  we  had  no  opportunity  to  ascer- 
tain her  feelings  at  the  moment,  we  know  in  whom  she 
believed,  and  that  she  was  delightfully  prepared  for  the 
unexpected  change.  It  was  the  disease  of  the  heart, 
which  caused  her  death.  She  had  been  anxious  about 
this  for  some  months. 

I  have  a  great  deal  more  to  say,  but  cannot  say  it 
now.  I  intend  to  write  to  brother  Edward  by  the  next 
mail.  I  will  not  attempt  to  tell  you  how  well  she,  who 
is  gone,  was  here  universally  beloved.  Wc  rttend  to 
the  last  sad  mark  of  affectionate  respect  to-morrow  af- 
ternoon. I  would  that  you  could  take  another  look  at 
that  endeared  form,  so  lovely  in  death,  ere  it  is  borne 
away  to  the  silent  resting  place.  I  know  not  how  to 
yield  it  up  — 


"  But  this,  new  rising  from  the  tomb, 
With  beauty  brighter  far  shall  shine." 


•240 


!EMOIR    OF   MRS. 


We  must  try  to  tttink  of  her  as  in  heaven,  not  in  the 
grave.  I  need  your  sympathies  and  prayers,  and  allow 
me  to  assure  you  that  you  share  in  mine.  H.  P. 

Additional  particulars  are  contained  in  the  following 
letter  to  her  sister  and  myself. 

Sackville,  March  IG,  1844. 
My  dear  Brother  and  Sister. 

I  feel  very  much  indisposed  to  writing  to-day,  and 
indeed  to  every  thing  else  requiring  any  mental  exer- 
cise. I  feel  disposed  to  sit  down  in  silence  amidst  the 
thick  darkness  which  envelopes  me ;  but  feeling  must 
not  be  my  guide,  certainly  not  now.  My  heart  is  very 
heavy  within  me  ;  my  house  is  left  unto  me  desolate  — 
and  O,  how  soon,  how  suddenly,  how  unexpectedly  ! ! 
Would  that  I  could  run  unto  you  this  evening,  that  we 
might  sit  down  together,  and  weep  over  our  most  dis- 
tressing bereavement ;  that  we  might  together  think  of 
the  happy  translation  of  the  loved  one  who  is  gone ; 
that  we  might  together  in  our  sadness  approach  our 
Father  who  is  in  heaven,  seeking  from  Him  consolation 
in  this  time  of  need  !  But  I  sat  down  to  write  you  the 
particulars  of  the  sickness  and  death  of  the  one  who 
has  entered  into  rest. 

My  dear  Hannah  seemed  to  pass  along  through  the 
anxious  months  which  precede  the  hour  of  trial,  more 
comfortably  than  on  the  former  occasion,  except  that 
she  had  rather  a  serious  ill  turn  immediately  after 
Christmas,  resulting  from  over-exertion  on  that  day, 
which  threatened  for  a  time  very  distressing  conse- 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


241 


in  the 
1  allow 
I.  P. 

[lowing 


,  1844. 

lay,  and 
al  exer- 
lidst  the 
ig  must 
t  is  very 
iolale  — 
ctcdly  ! ! 
that  we 
nost  dis- 
think  of 
gone ; 
>ach  our 
isolation 
you  the 
me  who 


IS 


() 


)ugh  the 
al,  more 
ept  that 
ly  after 
hat  day, 
conse- 


quences ;  but  they  were  escaped,  and  in  a  very  few 
days  she  was  again  attending  to  her  usual  duties.  She 
continued  to  pass  along  so  very  comfortably,  that  I 
thought  surely  all  would  be  well.  After  her  confine- 
ment, she  seemed  to  do  well,  except  that  she  had,  on 
two  successive  nights,  what  seemed  like  fainting  fits, 
although  she  was  perfectly  conscious  of  every  thing 
which  was  done  about  her,  and  eould  speak.  She 
complained  of  irregular  beating  of  the  heart,  and  a 
death-like  feeling  throughout  her  system.  This  feeling 
about  the  heart  gave  her,  and  me  too,  so  much  anxiety, 
that,  although  we  were  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  at- 
tending physician,  I  sent  some  distance  for  another,  of 
high  reputation,  who  said  that  she  had  nothing  to  fear, 
at  least  immediately,  from  this  ;  that  the  great  weak- 
ness of  the  system  was  the  immediate  cause  of  the 
faintness,  etc. ;  and  that  as  she  gained  strength  these 
symptoms  would  cease.  His  strongly  expressed  opinion 
greatly  encouraged  ,(.r,  especially  as  she  was  noi  se- 
riously troubled  Uij:ain  with  them  until  the  fatal  hour. 
During  the  last  ten  days  of  her  life,  she  reclined  every 
day,  for  a  longer  or  shorter  period,  on  the  sofa ;  and 
during  the  last  few  days,  several  hours.  She  felt  so 
well,  indeed,  tl.at  she  wished  several  times  to  be 
allowed  to  walk  from  the  bed  to  the  sofa,  and  on 
Wednesday  or  Thursday,  in  my  absence,  did  walk  from 
the  sofa  to  the  bed,  and,  after  resting  awhile,  attempted 
to  walk  back,  but  eflfected  her  purpose  with  some  diffi- 
culty. I  entered  the  room  just  after  she  reached  the 
sofa,  and  found  her  rather  inclined  to  faintness.  She 
then  promised  me  that  she  would  not  attempt  to  walk 
21 


lii 


■tea 


242 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


again,  until  I  should  think  she  might  with  safety.  She 
was  very  anxious  apparently  for  certain  recovery,  and 
very  careful  and  fearful.  On  Saturday  and  Sunday, 
she  seemed  very  much  better,  or  rather,  seemed  to  be 
getting  better  much  more  rapidly.  The  Sabbath  was 
a  very  delightful  day  to  us  both.  Our  fears  and  doubts, 
which  had  continued  to  linger  about  us,  relative  to  her 
recovery,  were  banished,  and  we  were  looking  forward 
with  renewed  hope  to  the  future,  which  proved  to  be 
but  an  imaginary  one.  The  account  of  her  last  night 
and  morning  you  will  have  seen  in  the  letter  which  I 
sent  to  Father  Thompson. 

I  was  at  first  grieved  to  think  that  we  had  no  op- 
portunity to  bid  each  other  farewell,  but  on  second 
thought  1  feel  most  grateful  on  her  account  that  her 
removal  from  us  was  sudden  —  the  arrangement  was 
doubtless  made  by  her  Heavenly  Father,  in  infinite 
mercy.  She  was  saved  from  a  most  painful  trial.  It 
seemed  almost  impossible  that  she  could  have  faced 
death  calmly,  anticipating  his  approach ;  at  any  rate, 
she  was  spared  the  conflict  with  such  fear  and  dread 
as  must  have  preceded  such  calmness,  and  also  the  bit- 
ter agony  of  feeling  which  she  would  have  found  in 
tearing  herself  from  those  for  whom  she  was  so  anxious. 
Her  exchange  of  worlds  was  the  most  like  a  transla- 
tion, of  any  thing  I  have  ever  witnessed.  She  was 
not,  for  God  took  her.  She  passed  away  in  a  very 
happy,  cheerful  hour  from  us,  to  the  higher,  hoHer,  hap- 
pier associations  of  the  better  world,  and  the  transfer 
from  the  one  to  the  other,  was  the  work  of  a  moment. 
She  had  no  dark  valley  t'^  pass,  or  her  passage  through 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


243 


it  was  so  swift  that  slie  could  not  have  felt  its  terror. 
For  this  I  do  feel  very  grateful  to  God.  Her  mind, 
for  the  most  part,  during  the  last  months  of  her  life, 
has  been  in  a  very  high  state  of  religious  experience. 
She  has  seemed  to  breathe  the  atmosphere  of  heaven, 
and  has  borne  the  fruit  in  her  life  of  that  holier  clime. 
[Here  Mr.  Pickard  inserted  the  last  record  in  her  jour- 
nal, already  given,  and  added,]  — The  blessing  which 
she  thus  obtained  was  retained,  I  believe,  almost  unin- 
terruptedly to  the  close  of  life. 

On  the  Sunday  morning  before  her  death,  she  said  she 
L  .  not  the  sensible  communion  with  God  which  she 
desired ;  she  supposed  the  devil  was  taking  advantage 
of  her  weakness  to  try  to  shake  her  confidence.  She 
said  she  had  great  comfort  in  recollecting  Christ's  ac- 
rr^aiuiance  with  our  weakness,  and  His  tender  sympa- 
tiiy ;  and  in  thinking  of  that  passage  which  speaks  of 
the  bi^uised  reed.  She  seemed  to  be  holding  fast  her 
confidence,  but  with  a  trembling  hand.  Later  in  the 
day  she  spoke  evidently  the  feelings  of  a  heart  over- 
flowing with  gratitude  —  of  the  great,  rich  goodness  of 
God  unto  us  —  of  the  three  weeks  of  such  rich  mercy 
—  and  seemed  very  happy  in  thinking  of  it. 

I  know  not  what  to  say  to  you,  to  console  you,  while 
my  heart  is  so  lacerated.  I  strive  to  think  of  her  as 
she  is.  Would  we  draw  her  back  if  we  could,  from 
such  a  state  of  glorious  bliss?  In  the  attending  cir- 
cumstances of  mercy,  I  can  but  rejoice  for  her.  The 
last  weeks  of  her  life  were  comfortable  ones  to  her. 
She  found  friends  who  were  ready  to  do  all  they  could 
to  supply  her  sister's  place.      Her  medical  attendant 


244 


MEMOIR   OF   MRS. 


was  most  acceptable  to  her  —  tender,  delicate,  and  as- 
siduous in  attention.  Mrs.  Dixon,  who  was  to  her, 
and  in  her  estimation,  all  but  equal  to  Mrs.  Town,  was 
with  her  much.  Miss  Carr,  the  young  lady  who  has 
been  with  us  this  winter,  was  untiring  in  attention ; 
and  the  old  lady  who  acted  as  nurse,  she  said,  reminded 
her  in  her  attentions  very  much  of  her  own  mother. 
I  was  always  in  and  out,  never  absent  from  her  cham- 
ber, in  the  day  time,  during  her  sickness,  more  than 
an  hour  and  a  half  at  a  time,  except  on  the  Sabbath 
afternoon,  when  I  was  away  between  two  and  three 
hours,  perhaps.  I  am  truly  sorry  that  none  of  her  own 
relatives  could  be  with  her  —  but  this  also  is  all  right. 

In  this  Province  she  was  only  known  to  be  univer- 
sally admired  and  esteemed  ;  prejudice  was  disarmed 
in  reference  to  her.  Her  funeral  was  most  numerously 
attended,  although  on  a  week  day,  with  the  roads  veiy 
bad;  the  people  gathered  from  all  directions;  many 
came  ten  and  twelve  miles. 

Words  cannot  describe  the  already  realized  loneli- 
ness of  earth  to  me.  I  have  felt  it  so  much  since  I 
commenced  writing  this,  that  I  had  to  cease  in  order 
to  seek  a  little  relief.  I  took  Edward  and  walked  out 
to  the  silent  grave  —  but  O,  this  gave  not  relief ;  then 
called  upon  sympathizing  friends,  and  after  talking 
with  them  an  hour  or  two,  and  approaching  with  them 
in  prayer  to  God,  I  have  returned  somewhat  comforted. 
But  O,  I  cannot  look  forward.  Remember  mo  at  the 
Throne. 

You  will,  of  course,  feel  some  anxiety  about  Edward. 
He  is  a  most  lovely,  afTectionate  Uttle  fellow ;  his  loss 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


245 


is  unutterable.  His  attachment — affectionate,  not 
merely  instinctive  attachment  to  his  mother  was  re- 
markable. Could  you  have  seen  how  anxiously  he 
would  bend  down  to  kiss  the  cold  but  loved  form, 
even  after  it  was  dressed  in  the  habiliments  of  the 
grave  and  placed  in  the  coffin,  it  would  haye  altogether 
overcome  you,  as  it  did  me.  '^  bent  down  again  and 
again,  and  kissed  it  just  as  the  coffin  was  about  to  be 
closed :  and  he  will  still  look  around  for  her  with  dis- 
appointed anxiety.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Allison  have  kindly 
offered  to  take  him  and  his  nurse  into  their  family. 
This  kind  offer  has  very  much  lighjtened  the  heavy  load 
of  anxiety  which  was  pressing  upon  my  mind  relative 
*<■  .  They  have  no  child,  are  very  much  attached 
1  'Ward,  and  are  exceedingly  kind;  and  he  will  be 
only  a  few  yards  from  me.  Yours, 

H.    PiCKARD. 


The  disease  of  which  Mrs.  PicVard  died  had,  it 
seems,  been  for  some  time  at  work  in  her  system, 
though  she  made  no  report  of  it  to  her  friends.  She 
was  troubled,  even  in  early  youth,  with  palpitation  of 
the  heart,  but  no  alarming  symptoms  had  shown  them- 
selves. After  the  accident  on  her  journey  from  Freder- 
icton,  she  had  occasionally  a  tendency  to  faintness ; 
this  probably  induced  her,  on  lier  return  from  her  last 
visit  in  Boston,  to  consult  a  physician  in  St.  Tohn, 
by  whom  she  was  informed  that  her  heart  was  some- 
what disordered.  This  information  was  not  communi- 
cated to  any  but  her  husband  until  after  her  death. 
Probably  she  might  iiave  continued  longer  to  live,  had 
21* 


246 


MEMOIR   OF  MRS. 


^^- 


not  the  birth  of  her  last  child  accelerated,  or  rather 
^  ddenly  developed  and  completed  the  disease. 

It  is  consoling,  however,  to  think  that  for  such  an 
abrupt  termination  of  life,  she  had  been  maturing  in 
Christian  character  to  the  last,  and  that  to  her,  <'  sudden 
death  was  sudden  glory."  As  expressed  in  the  re- 
marks respecting  the  eflfect  of  her  mother's  death  upon 
her,  the  circumstances  of  her  own  dissolution  allowed 
her  no  realizing  views  of  immediately  approaching 
eternity  ;  at  least  none  that  could  be  revealed  to  any 
around  her.  But  she  was  washed,  but  she  was  justi- 
fied, but  she  was  sanctified,  "  in  the  name  of  the  Lord 
Jesus,  and  by  the  Spirit  of  our  .God  ;"  and  was,  doubt- 
less, ready  to  strike  her  harp,  and  join  with  the  re- 
deemed hosts  in  singing,  "  unto  Him  that  loved  us, 
and  washed  us  from  our  sins  in  His  own  blood,  and 
hath  made  us  kings  and  priests  unto  God  and  His 
Father,  to  Him  be  glory  and  dominion  for  ever  and 
ever.  Amen."  How  delightfully  does  her  example 
illustrate  the  value  and  importance  of  a  constant  read- 
iness to  die.  Who  would  not  be  found,  as  she  was,  at 
whatever  hour  the  Master  shall  call  ? 

I  will  make  but  one  remark  more,  where  reflections 
might  be  greatly  multiplied,  in  order  to  illustrate  the 
attending  wisdom  and  kindness  of  God  even  in  such  a 
mysterious  Providence.  The  reader  cannot  fail  to 
have  noticed  her  exceedingly  tender  and  affectionate 
attachment  to  all  she  loved.  He  should  know,  too, 
that  the  peculiar  shrinking  of  the  flesh  from  the  physi- 
cal pain  which  sometimes  precedes  death,  was  very 


j,^^Ajk.. 


HANNAH    M.    PICKARD. 


247 


grjeat  to  her  nervous  and  sensitive  nature.  But  by  the 
divine  arrangement  in  her  removal  from  earth,  she  was 
not  allowed  even  to  see  death  in  any  form  of  terror  or 
pain,  and  was  spared  the  extreme  anguish  of  hngering 
severance  from  the  ties  of  friendly  and  domestic  en- 
dearment. Happy  in  confiding  love  and  hope,  her 
blooming  virtues  and  affections  diffusing  aronnd  her  a 
sweet  perfume,  rejoicing  in  present  and  anticipated 
pleasures  of  assured  friendship,  and  with  a  still  more 
highly  gratified  sense  of  divine  love  and  favor,  she 
was  "  caugh*  up  to  Paradise  "  in  a  moment,  to  enjoy 
unspeakably  more  glorious  and  endearing  scenes  and 
connections. 

The  delineation  of  her  character  I  have  endeavored 
to  present  through  the  course  of  the  Memoir.  I  will 
not  now  even  collect  in  one  view  the  points  of  excel- 
lence in  her  life,  which  appear  in  these  pages  —  I  wiU 
leave  that  to  be  done  by  the  reader  himself ;  for  if, 
after  the  endeavor  which  I  have  already  made  to  pic- 
ture her  to  the  mind,  I  have  failed  in  giving  a  tolerably 
satisfactory  idea  of  her,  any  further  attempt,  on  my 
part,  would  be  equally  unavailing.  It  will  be  proper 
for  me,  however,  in  conclusion  of  this  affectionate 
tribute  to  her  memory,  to  add  the  following  unsolicited 
testimony  to  her  appreciated  worth  in  her  adopted 
land,  from  a  disinterested  source,  in  the  form  of  sym- 
pathizing and  affectionate  letters  to  her  friends  on  the 
occasion  of  their  distressing  bereavement. 

The  Rev.  Enoch  Wood,  Chairman  of  the  New 
Brunswick  District,  wrote  to  Mr.  Pickard,  as  follows : 


J^-j'^^^-.-^.^^.lJalJL^'-Ji.^^iyL    . 


248 


MEMOIR    OF   MRS. 


My  dear  afflicted  Brother, 

The  very  sudden  and  unlooked  for  removal  of 
your  beloved  wife,  and  our  much  esteemed  sister  and 
friend,  has  given  us  great  pain.  In  this  your  deep 
affliction,  you  have  the  sincere  sympathy  and  fervent 
prayers  of  all  your  friends.  That  the  goodness  of  our 
Heavenly  Father,  by  whose  unerring  wisdom  this  mys- 
terious event  has  been  brought  to  pass,  may  show  itself 
by  a  large  bestowment  of  Grace  Divine  in  this  your 
time  of  need,  is  our  earnest  prayer.  To  her  tlie  change 
is  one  involving  all  gain  ;  so  far  let  your  grief  be 
stayed  ;  but  still  to  you,  and  your  motherless  boy  —  to 
us  and  all  her  numerous  and  attached  friends,  the 
stroke  is  severely  felt  in  our  conscious  loss  of  superior 
excellence  and  holy  example.  I  have  always  enter- 
tained an  exalted  opinion  of  her  qualifications  to  be 
placed  by  your  side  in  the  difficult  and  responsible 
post  which  you  occupy,  and  to  which  you  have  been 
called  by  the  voice  of  the  Church  of  God.  Great  is 
your  loss  ;  great  is  ours,  as  a  community  to  which  lier 
attachments  were  strong  and  enlightened. 

Allowing  for  all  your  past  and  present  trouble,  much 
is  yet  before  you.  In  your  solitary  hours,  studies, 
journeys,  etc.,  your  loss  will  meet  you,  and  keep  alive 
the  tremblings  of  a  wounded,  bleeding  heart.  Nay. 
the  innocent,  playful  movements  of  your  first-born,  will 
often  lacerate,  when,  if  the  companion  of  your  earliest 
friendship  were  by  your  side,  they  would  excite  delight 
and  satisfaction.  And  still,  by  the  sanctifying  grace  of 
God,  all  this,  and  more  than  this,  will  be  found  work- 
ing together  for  your  good.     Future  months  and  years 


r;:'^-;*--' 


HANNAH    M.   PICKARD. 


249 


will  show  how  close  the  connection  between  this  dark 
day,  and  scenes  of  a  brighter  hue ;  nay,  between  the 
events  of  earth  and  the  glories  of  heaven.  Trust,  O 
trust  in  Him, 

*'  Whose  path  is  on  the  sea,  whose  wondrous  ways 
Through  the  deep  waters  yet  remain  unknown." 

He  alone  can  sustain  ;  He  alone  can  comfort.  With 
heartfelt  sorrow  and  lively  sympathy,  in  which  my 
brethren,  and  all  our  families  join,  I  am,  dear  Brother, 

Yours  sincerely, 

Enoch  Wood. 


Again,  writing  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  McNutt,  the  preach- 
er stationed  in  Sackville,  Mr.  Wood  says ;  "  your 
gloomy  letter  has  distressed  us  indeed  ;  the  affliction  is 
a  pubUc  one  ;  her  qualifications  for  her  post  were. rare ; 
we  always  cherished  the  strongest  love  for  her  from  the 
time  she  came  among  us.  To  the  righteous  decisions 
of  a  gncious  God,  we  must  devoutly  bow  ;  O  may  we 
have  Gf'ace  to  improve  by  them.  We  may  say  of  her, 
'  Thy  memory  is  fragrant,  and  thy  works  shall  perpet- 
uate th  V  name.  Thy  spirit  has  now  joined  those  who 
have  gi.  ne  before,  and  we  are  following  after  thee, 
having  one  more  motive  to  quicken  us  in  the  way  — 
the  hope  of  meeting  soon  thy  lovely  and  loving,  thy 
holy  and  blessed  spirit,  Amen.' " 

The  Rev.  Samuel  D.  Rice,  agent  of  the  Academy 
at  Sackville,  in  a  letter  to  myself,  writes,  "  Though  a 
stranger  to  you  personally,  I  take  the  liberty  to  address 
you,  for  the  purpose  of  testifying  to  you  the  high  esti- 


250 


MEMOIR. 


mation  in  which  your  most  amiable  and  devoted  sister- 
m-law  was  held  in  the  land  of  her  adoption,  and  more 
particularly,  in  the  Institution,  where  her  husband  so 
well  fulfils  the  honorable  and  responsible  situation  of 
Principal.  Her  stay  with  us  was  too  brief,  in  our  own 
view  of  things.  We  wanted  her  counsel,  encourage- 
ment, and,  above  all,  the  silent  but  unusually  powerful 
influence  of  her  example.  We  admired  and  loved  her 
for  her  varied  natural  ac4iiirement3,  but  more  for  the 
grace  of  God  in  her.  It  may  be  pleasing  to  her  friends 
to  know,  that  to  all  with  whom  she  associated,  she  was 
endeared,  and  greatly  so;  and  never  have  I  known 
one  for  whose  loss  so  much  real  sorrow  was  felt.  As 
soon  as  I  had  heard  the  sad  intelligence,  I  communi- 
cated it  to  our  friends,  and  for  weeks,  when  her  name 
was  mentioned,  the  tear  would  tell  that  her  name  had 
awakened  emotions  of  sorrow.  Her  path,  from  the 
time  of  her  entering  in  among  us,  was  that  of  the  just 
—  it  shone  more  and  more,  till  it  terminated  in  the  full 
radiance  of  glory.  Her  sainted  spirit  is  at  rest.  May 
we  follow  her  as  she  followed  Christ." 


SELECT   WRITINGS 


SKETCHES  AND  FRAGMENTS. 

The  following  articles,  srlected  from  Mrs.  Picknrd's  writings, 
some  in  manuscript,  and  others  ulready  published,  will  be  read 
with  interest,  as  developing  elements  of  thought,  emotion  and 
rhetorical  skill,  which  only  needed  farther  opportunity  and  cul- 
ture, to  establish  the  reputation  of  an  accomplished  and  elegant 
writer. 

The  Sketches,  as  far  as  that  entitled  "  Home,"  were  especially 
designed  for  youtliful  readers,  as  is  evident  from  their  style,  and 
yet  they  contain  a  certain  richness,  together  with  simplicity  of 
expression,  which  renders  them  a  delightful  pastime  for  all 
classes.  These  pieces  formerly  appeared  in  the  Sabbath  School 
Messenger,  and  though  some  of  them  have  been  frequently  used 
on  public  occasions,  they  have  lost  none  of  their  value,  for  it  is 
intrinsic ;  and  they  are  worthy  of  this  permanent  form,  and  of 
the  more  extended  penisal  secured  to  them  by  this  publication. 

Of  the  Fragments,  I  wish  only  to  say,  that,  as  such,  they  are 
but  scattered  and  suggestive  hints  of  thought,  imperfect  in  form, 
but  too  valuable  to  be  lost ;  some  of  them  would  furnish  ad- 
miiable  subjects  and  imagery  for  the  poetic  muse,  and  all  of 
them  exhibit  the  fervid  operation  of  a  mind  in  love  with  pure 
and  beautiful  sentiments. 


Iili 


SKETCHES. 


vritings, 
be  read 
tion  and 
and  cul- 
1  elegant 

tspecially 
style,  and 
plicity  of 
for  all 
th  School 
ntly  used 
,  for  it  is 
n,  and  of 
blication. 
they  are 
t  in  form, 
rnish  ad- 
ind  all  of 
vith  pure 


THE   LITTLE  REMEMBRANCER. 

"  Mother,  here  is  this  beautiful  little  cluster  of  blossoms, 
which  the  wind  has  just  blown  from  our  cherry-tree  ;  and  a 
great  many  morc  lie  scattered  around,  alone,  like  flakes  of 
snow,  —  O !  I  am  so  sorry.  What  a  pity  that  it  could  not 
have  hung  upon  the  tree,  and  ripened  into  fruit ;  one,  two, 
three,  four,  five  —  O,  how  nice  they  would  have  been ! 
You  said,  mama,  the  other  day,  when  you  reproved  brother 
for  treading  carelessly  upon  a  worm,  that '  nothing  was  ever 
made  in  vain.'  I  am  sure  I  do  not  see  why  this  was  made, 
all  perfect  as  the  others,  and  just  when  it  was  fully  blown, 
to  fall  upon  the  ground  and  die.  That  does  seem  to  be  in 
vain."        '  • 

"  Bring  it  here,  my  dear,  and  I  will  tell  you  why  it  was 
made,  just  as  the  little  flower  would  do  if  it  could  speak.  A 
few  weeks  ago,  th'j  tree,  you  know,  had  not  a  leaf  upon  all 
its  branches  ;  cold  storms  were  gathering  darkly  in  the  sky  ; 
every  tree  and  bush  looked  dead ;  the  ground  was  covered 
thick  with  snow,  the  streams  and  ponds  with  glistening  ice  ; 
and,  although  the  earth  was  really  nearer  to  the  sun  than 
when  'tis  summer,  yet  the  part  of  it  on  which  we  live,  was 
so  turned  from  his  rays,  that  they  could  only  fall  obliquely 
upon  us,  without  diffusing  suflScient  heat  to  drive  away  the 
cold  bleak  winds  and  frosts,  which  sweep  across  from  the 
22 


254 


SELECT    WRITINGS. 


polar  regions ;  —  but  you  see  how  great  a  change  has  come , 
the  snow  and  ice  are  gone  —  the  buds,  and  leaves,  and  in- 
sect tribes,  all  things  which  summer  brings,  are  now  appear- 
ing. This  is  the  work  of  God —  it  is  all  a  mystery ;  repeated 
in  each  changing  of  the  season,  we  watch  its  gradual  pro- 
gress, till  it  arcms  a  thing  of  course  ;  yet  it  is  not  the  less  a 
mystery.  But  have  we  thanked  Him,  who,  placing  the  bow 
in  the  clouds  when  the  flood  receded,  promised  that '  while 
the  earth  remainelh,  seed  time  and  harvest,  and  cold  and 
heat,  and  summer  and  winter,  and  day  and  night,  shall  not 
cease.' 

"  These  little  flowers  have  fallen  to  recal  you  to  your 
duty.  In  their  delicate  hue,  and  sweet  fragrance,  is  expressed 
a  constant  hymn  of  praise.  Should  they  not  call  a  blush  of 
shame  upon  our  cheeks,  to  be  thus  earlier  than  ourselves, 
who  have  witnessed  the  couimenceuicnt  and  decline  of  so 
many  seasons,  and  yet  have  not  brought  from  pure  hearts  a 
single  fervent  offering  of  gratitude  for  their  return  ? " 

"  O,  mother !  how  ungrateful  I  have  been.  How  much  it 
must  have  displeased  God !  I  am  afraid  that  in  the  midst  of 
this  great  world  which  he  has  made,  he  may  forget  me,  as  I 
had  forgotten  him.     O !  what  should  I  do  ?" 

"  You  see,  my  dear,  that  early  star  which  has  taken  its 
place  above  us ;  it  is  a  world  far  moi'c  glorious  than  this  on 
which  we  live  ;  larger,  brighter,  happier  perhaps  ;  yet  to  the 
hand  which  formed  it,  to  the  providence  which  guides  it,  'tis 
not  better  known,  or  with  more  love  and  care  o'erwatched, 
than  is  the  heart  of  a  little  child  —  those  whom  His  mercy 
has  surnamed  the  '  lambs  of  his  flock.' " 

"  Mother,  that  star  —  it  is  so  far  above,  much  farther  than 
I  can  even  think  —  is  it  not  shining  there  near  the  throne  of 
God.?" 

"  Your  eye,  ray  daughter,  cannot  pierce  the  distance,  your 
mind  cannot  comprehend  it ;  —  'tis  indeed  infinite.     World 


SKETCHES. 


255 


beyond  world  is  lost  in  the  space  still  farther  on,  where  the 
rays  of  the  bright  one  wo  now  see,  are  unknown  :  yet  to  the 
Eye  which  seeth  all  things,  distance  is  nothing  —  the  Spirit 
of  God  breathes  there  as  around  us  —  His  hand  marks  its 
path,  and  supplies  the  wants  of  each  breathing  thing  which 
dwells  in  those  great  worlds — still  we  ore  not  forgotten  1 
This  same  hand  supports  us,  and  if  we  fall,  raises  us  up 
again,  leading  us  tenderly  through  life.  He  listens  to  our 
humble  prayer,  whispered  even  while  angels'  songs  swell 
loudest,  sweetest  round.  He  is  ever  with  us  ;  His  kingdom 
is  not  in  the  sun,  nor  on  beyond  the  light  of  stars,  —  'tis  not 
where  hope  can  never  approach,  or  wearied  thought  can 
never  reach ;  but  it  is  very  nigh  to  us,  even  within  us  — 
'  The  Throne  of  God '  is  in  our  hearts." 


ARE  THEY  NOT  OUR  BRETHREN  ? 


The  day  was  far  spent :  the  last  sunbeams  fell  aslant  upon 
the  Himmalch  Mountains,  and  the  mists  of  approaching  night 
were  gathering  o'er  the  vast  plains  of  Bengal,  which  have 
never  echoed  the  name  of  God.  All  was  silence  around. 
Still  the  Hindoo  toiled ;  the  whole  day  he  had  labored  hard 
beneath  the  burning  sun.  His  hands  trembled  with  weari- 
ness ;  the  long  black  hair  fell  thick  about  his  .  'i>:-?lders  ;  and 
as  he  dropped  the  little  kernels  of  rice  which  Ijj  was  plant- 
ing in  the  earth,  he  was  repeating  in  a  low  tone  some  words 
from  a  little  piece  of  parchment  tied  abovil  his  neck.  Then 
ceased  his  work  a  moment,  as,  raising  himself,  he  looked 
around  and  said,  "  Mv  heart  is  troubled ;  how  can  it  be  that 
from  grains  so  small  should  come  the  waving  stalk,  the  flow- 
ers, the  fruit }  There  is  nothing  in  the  rain  that  falls  upon  it, 
nor  in  the  brook,  that  looks  like  these  ;  nor  in  the  air,  nor  in 
the  sunbeam  !     Surely,  some  being  whom  I  cannot  see  must 


256 


SELECT    WRITINGS. 


bid  them  grow  ;  he  must  have  made  the  diaii^ond,  the  ruby, 
and  the  topaz,  embedded  in  the  rock  and  sand  of  those  tall 
mountains  ;  —  then  he  made  mountains,  rivers,  trees  ;  all 
our  tribes  —  even  me.  In  all  I  look  upon,  I  see  his  work; 
then  whei'e,  O,  where  is  he  ?  I  have  climbed  those  far-off 
mountains,  been  in  their  deep,  dark  caverns,  where  not  a 
voice  is  heard.  Does  he  dwell  there  ?  The  sky,  the  sun 
and  storms  must  have  been  his  work.  Then  he  is  every- 
where ;  and,  rich  enough,  needs  not  the  worship  or  remem- 
brance of  aught  which  he  has  made."  Awed  to  silence,  he 
paused,  then  sighed,  "  My  sins,  my  sins !  alas,  I  know  him 
not." 

Evening  came  on ;  he  went  not  to  his  cabin ;  beneath 
some  bamboo  trees  he  laid  his  head,  but  not  to  sleep.  When 
morning  first  dawned,  he  hastened  to  the  priest  —  told  him 
all  his  doubts —  then  asked,  "  This  good  Being  may  I  love 
and  worship  ?  What  can  I  do  to  have  my  sins  forgiven  ?" 
The  priest  replied.  "Where  our  holy  river  Ganges  Ui  iS 
against  the  rocks  in  those  blue  mountains,  is  an  altar  to  Brah- 
ma. He  is  God,  and  made  all  things.  None  can  approach 
this  place,  but  sincere  worshippers.  Take  thy  sandals,  and, 
having  set  in  them  these  iron  spikes,  bind  them  upon  thy 
nuked  feet,  and  go  to  Brahma.  Your  sins  shall  be  forgiven. 
The  sun  may  often  rise  and  set  before  you  reach  that  place, 
yet  turn  not  back.  Weary  and  faint,  your  heart  may  fail  — 
turn  not  Ijack,  though  you  die." 

He  murmured  not,  and  cheerfully  commenced  his  painful 
journey.  When  night  came,  he  had  toiled  upon  his  way 
long,  long  hours  in  anguish,  yet  "  his  native  home  was  still 
but  just  b(!hind  him,"  far,  far  away  above  the  sunset  clouds 
he  could  discern  the  snowy  peaks  of  Himmaleh. 

Little  reader,  whose  first  formed  thoughts  were  hallowed 
by  the  name  of  Jesus,  what  would  you  not  have  sacrificed  to 
have  whispccd  in  the  car  of  this  poor  Hindoo  your  own 


i 


SKETCHES. 


257 


pure  knowledge  of  the  Savior,  as  he  stood  leaning  against  a 
cocoa-nut  tree,  for  breath,  while  the  grass  around  was  stained 
with  blood  from  his  wounded  feet,  —  to  have  said  in  the  Re- 
deemer's name,  "  Behold,  I  show  you  a  better  way." 


Beneath  the  branches  of  a  spreading  banian  tree,  an  anxious 
group  were  gathered ;  their  skins  were  dark  and  tawny  ; 
their  raiment  very  strange,  and  lightly  worn  ;,  yet  their  tear- 
ful eyes  revealed  the  feelings  of  a  soul  within.  In  their 
midst,  one  stood  of  different  race  ;  his  face  was  fair,  like  one 
of  us,  and  in  his  hand  he  held  a  book  —  it  was  the  Bible. 
He  knelt  and  prayed  with  them,  and  then  he  rose  to  tell 
them  of  the  Christians'  God.  Just  then  the  pilgrim  Hindoo 
man  advanced  ;  overcome  by  suffering,  almost  in  death,  he 
threw  himself  down  upon  the  turf  beneath  the  tree  ;  no 
groan  escaped  him  ;  he  pressed  to  hVu  fevered  lips  the  little 
piece  of  parchment  he  wore  about  his  neck,  for  he  could  not 
utter  the  prayer  which  it  contained.  The  cool  breeze  rustled 
freshly  among  the  leaves,  and  a  little  brook,  flowing  softly 
past  the  bank  below,  seemed  calling  him  to  quench  his  dying 
thirst.  But  then  a  sound,  sweeter  far  to  him  than  is  the 
freshening  breezf  unto  the  fainting,  or  the  music  of  the 
water  to  the  thirsty,  was  borne  upon  that  breeze.  In  his  own 
language,  he  heard  the  words  —  "  The  blood  of  Jesus  Christ, 
his  Son,  cleanseth  us  from  all  sin."  He  raised  his  drooping 
head,  and  as  he  listened,  he  forgot  his  pain,  and  thirst,  and 
weariness.  With  each  word  there  came  new  life ;  sitting 
up,  with  faith  in  what  he  heard,  he  tore  from  his  neck  the 
once  treasured  parchment ;  unclasped  the  torturing  sandals 
from  his  bleeding  feet ;  gathered  up  his  robe,  came,  fell 
down  upon  his  knees  in  the  midst,  repeating  the  words  of 
the  teacher  — 

"  Thanks  be  to  God  who  giveth  us  the  victory,  through 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

22* 


258 


SELECT   WRITINGS. 


SUPPOSED  DIALOGUE 

BETWEEN   A   LITTLE   HEATHEN   GIRL   AND   THE    DAUGHTER   OF 

A    MISSIONARY. 

"I  have  been  watching  you  as  you  looked  among  the 
flowers,  and  longed  to  ask  you  who  you  were  ;  —  you  do  not 
look  like  me  ;  where  is  your  home  ?" 

"  Do  you  see  that  largest  building  yonder,  roofed  with 
palm  leaves,  and  surrounded  by  the  cinnamon  trees  ?  The 
green  earth  slopes  down  in  front,  to  where  you  see  a  group 
of  orange  trees,  covered  with  fruit  and  flowers.  That  is  the 
Mission  house.  My  father  is  a  Missionary.  Have  you  never 
been  there  .^" 

"  No,  we  have  just  come  here  from  another  place.  But 
where  did  you  come  from  ?     What  is  a  Missionary  ?" 

"  We  have  been  here  a  great  many  months.  Two  years 
ago,  we  came  across  the  sea,  to  teach  your  people  about 
God,  from  a  place  called  America.    Did  you  ever  hear  of  it .?' 

"  Never." 

"  In  America,  they  have  not  so  beauiiful  trees,  so  rich 
fruits,  or  flowers  so  sweet  as  you  have  here  ;  but  there  they 
all  know  and  worship  one  God  ;  and  we  have  brought  a  book 
from  there,  which  will  tell  you  all  about  Him.  Those  who 
love  this  God,  are  kind,  good  and  happy." 

"  Arc  all  the  childreu  there  like  you  .^" 

"  Yes,  only  they  have  not  learned  your  language  as  I 
have  done.  They  meet  in  classes,  one  day  in  every  week, 
to  learn  .  I  bout  God;  and  are  so  pleased  when  they  hear 
from  you, —  some  of  them  have  given  money  to  buy  these 
books  —  Bibles,  we  call  them, — to  send  out  here.  They 
love  and  pray  for  you." 

"  Pray  for  us  !  " 


SKETCHES. 


259 


"Yes,  that  you  may  love  this  God,  and  learn  to  roud  His 
book." 

"  Where  did  they  get  it  ?  " 

"  Holy  liien  wrote  it,  as  God  commanded  them.  It  tells 
us  how  He  made  the  world  from  nothing,  by  His  word  ;  how 
He  made  man  from  its  dust,  and  gave  to  him  a  living  soul — 
made  him  to  be  happy ;  but  he  sinned.  And  because  all 
have  sinned,  all  must  suffer,  some  by  poverty,  some  by  sick- 
ness, some  by  crime  ;  but  all  alike  must  die." 

"  Your  God — what  is  his  name  ?  " 

"  We  call  him  the  Lord,  terrible  and  mighty ;  the  Holy 
One  ;  the  Creator ;  Jehovah  ;  the  only  and  true  God." 

"  We  worship  many  gods,  but  not  Him.  Where  does  he 
dwell  ? " 

"  Your  gods  -ire  only  idols,  made  by  men,  and  can  do 
you  no  good  ;  there  is  but  one  whom  you  should  worship  — 
He  is  eternal ;  of  His  days  there  was  no  beginning  and  will 
be  no  end ;  perfectly  wise  and  just ;  perfectly  good  and 
holy  ;  dwelling  in  heaven  mid  light  beyond  the  brightness 
of  our  sun  at  noonday,  or  its  golden  gleams  at  setting :  the 
moon  and  host  of  stars  at  night  have  not  the  iaintest  shade 
of  the  glory  and  beauty  in  which  He  dwells." 

"  Is  He  there  alone .? "  •  . 

"No;  angels,  beings  created  by  Him,  with  wings  all 
bright  and  glistening,  bow  around  His  throne,  giving  praise 
to  Him,  who  is,  and  who  was,  and  shall  be  for  ever  more. 
Vet  listen  ;  from  all  this  He  looked  and  saw  that  we  were 
perishing  in  sin  ;  He  loved  us  when  we  knew  Him  not,  and 
left  that  world  of  glory  to  come  in  the  form  of  man,  and  die, 
that  He  might  cleanse  our  souls  from  sin  in  His  own  blood  ; 
and  now  we  call  Him  Redeemer,  Savior,  our  Father." 
"  To  cleanse  our  souls  !  —  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 
"  The  soul  can  never  die  ;  these  bodies,  first  formed  from 
dust,  will  die  and  be  laid  away  to  moulder  and  blacken  in 


V  r 


63 


SELECT    WRITINGS. 


'A         * 


the  grave ;  upon  these  cheeks,  within  these  lips,  within 
these  throbbing  hearts,  the  gnawing  worm  will  crawl  and 
feed,  yet  we  shall  know  it  not,  for  the  '  soul  shall  return 
unto  God  who  gave  it.'  " 

"  The  other  day,  from  the  river's  muddy  shore,  I  saw 
them  take  a  piece  of  earth ;  I  wondered  wnat  it  was,  and 
watched  until  they  washed  the  dirt  away,  and  then  I 
knew  it  was  a  diamond.  Is  it  not  thus  you  mean  —  the 
soul  is  like  that  diamond,  concealed  till  death  shall  take 
this  outward  part  away  ?" 

"  Just  so." 

"  But  what  will  be  when  we  are  dead,  —  will  the  sun 
still  shine,  and  all  things  look  the  same  as  now?" 

"  Yes ;  but  there  will  ccime  a  time  when  God  sl.all  call 
from  out  their  graves  all  human  dust,  though  of  these 
forms  no  eye  but  His  could  see  a  bone  or  sinew  left ;  yet 
at  His  word  we  all  shall  hve,  the  good  in  beauty  never 
more  to  die,  but  ever  be  vath  God ;  the  wicked  tu  live 
for  ever,  yet  far  from  Him." 

"  Can  this  be  true  ?  " 

"  Then  all  things  else  must  perish,  as  fades  away  the 
varying  cloud  at  night.  The  rugged  rocks,  the  star- 
crowned  mountains,  earth's  deep  foundations,  shall  be 
removed  and  know  no  place.  The  ocean  too,  whose 
waves  we  see  upon  the  misty  shore,  of  all  God's  works 
most  like  Himself,  emblem  of  His  eternity,  shall  cease  to 
be.  His  word,  who  from  chaos  called  it  forth,  shall  wipe 
its  floods  away,  even  as  from  the  trembling  leaf  the 
pearly  dew-drop  is  dissolved.  Yet  we,  who  shrink  at 
its  approaching  rage,  daring  scarce  listen  to  its  voice,  toe 
shall  live  for  ever ;  not  by  ourselves  sustained,  or  reason's 
light,  but  by  His  breath  upheld,  be  made  to  live  for  ever, 
specks  upon  the  never-ebbing  ocean  of  eternity.  And 
now  if  you  will  listen,  I  will  teach  you  a  prayer,  which 


I  T'S^-fT^'Tr—^TT^'"^  ~ 


SKETCHES. 


261 


the  Savior  tanght  us ;  believing  in  Him,  this  prayer  alone 
will  save  us  happy  'mid  the  universal  ruin." 

"  O,  let  me  know  it." 

"  Then  kneel  with  me.  Kneel,  because  it  is  to  God 
we  pray.  " 

"  Our  Father  who  art  in  Heaven,  hallowed  be  Thy 
name;  Thy  kingdom  come,  Thy  will  be  done  on  earth 
as  it  is  done  in  heaven  ;  give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread, 
and  forgive  us  our  trespasses  as  we  forgive  those  who 
trespass  against  us ;  lead  us  not  into  temptation,  but  de- 
liver us  from  evil,  for  Thine  is  the  kingdom,  the  power, 
and  the  glory,  for  ever,  and  ever.     Amen." 


FAREWELL  OF  THE  CLOSING  YEAR. 


How  swiftly  vhe  day  is  hastening  to  its  close  I  Even 
now,  its  latest  gleams,  in  lingering  reflection,  scarce  out- 
beam  the  far  sent  light  from  evening  stars.  In  a  few 
hours  we  shall  have  done  for  ever  with  this  fleet  year; 
and  it  will  have  gone  before  us  with  its  faithful  message 
to  the  throne  of  God.  Let  us  pause  ;  for  in  the  silence 
of  this  dusky  hour,  I  seem  to  hear  the  tottering  footsteps 
of  the  dying  year,  as  of  some  friend  infirm  and  old ;  and 
in  the  wind,  sighing  around  the  casement,  think  I  hear 
his  feeble  voice  thus  saying  —  "  Little  children,  "i  is  the 
last  time;  when  the  morrow  dawns,  my  wolkt  f  earth 
vvitli  you  are  done.  Gladly  I  leave  this  little  orb,  its  sor- 
rows and  its  change,  to  join  the  mighty  ranks  of  happy 
ages,  that  with  the  countless  years  of  heaven,  list  to  the 
songs  of  earth's  redeemed  unes,  where  comes  no  night 
or  storm,  no  sin,  no  change,  no  death.  V  n  ere  I  go,  a 
mcment  pause,  and  forget  not  all  my  benefits.  Three 
hundred  and  sixty-five  days,  I  have  been  your  guardian 


262 


SELECT    WHITINGS. 


^' 


—  each  hour  have  waited  anxiously  to  add  atw  Lglil  to 
the  trembling  btiims  of  knowledge  in  your  voudg  minds. 

"  When  night  :arae,  I  have  laid  you  quit  tly  ^"  sleep, 
beneath  so  ne  anj^iel's  care,  and  when  the  diiy  utar  rose 
with  fresh  direction  from  H's  throne  ibove,  have  btouj^ht 
you  from  its  grave  like  skimbtrs  forth  io  hop:,  to  prayer, 
to  gratitude.  Upon  some  of  y  '(,  disease  has  breathed; 
it  seemed  almost  the  touch  of  death,  and  the  kiick  nature 
turned  in  murmuring  away;  a^ain  I  y  Hiiii  commission- 
ed, I  have  tiled  the  dampness  of  its  breoth,  and  Irorvrht 
relief  :^md  blissful  health. 

'  But  <>f  those  fiven  me,  some  are  lost ;  for  ere  the 
.har\''e.st  a. me,  Deaih  reaped  among  the  flowers,  and  in 
bis  bcs<  ii'i  bore  thera  to  the  grave.  They  will  not  perish 
fhere  ;  a  day  shall  surely  come  when  those  crushed  blos- 
soms, by  the  throne  of  God,  shall  fear  no  more  the  foot 
of  the  destroyer. 

"  Yet  ye  are  spared,  and  each  moment  receiving  some 
token  of  a  Father's  care :  remember  how  much  he  blesses 
you  with  life,  and  health,  and  frierids.  Flowers  and 
fruits  and  pleasant  thoughts  have  been  his  daily  gifts 
bestowed  throngh  me. 

"  And  now  to  the  new,  young  year  I  give  you,  not 
knowing  what  Providence  within  its  robes  may  have 
concealed  for  you,  or  whether,  when  its  course  like  mine 
is  done,  it  may  not  leave  you  sleeping  in  the  tomb. 
Whate'er  it  be,  receive  each  hour  of  pleasure  or  of  bit- 
terness, with  firm,  unfailing  trust,  as  from  a  faithful  friend 
who  marks  each  change  with  everlasting  love.  If  the 
summons  be  to  death,  —  then  be  it  so ;  for  what  is  life  ? 
'T  is  but  the  port  from  which  we  sail,  death  but  the  breeze 
which  wafts  us  on  to  our  unchanging  hon'c —  Eternity, 

"  Otie  wovd  for  all  is  ever  borne  upor  -  ^  ;1\  moment's 
wing  —  'Prepare.'     And  if  this  word  ' >>..      .eded,  then, 


■k»\t--i. 11='; 


SKETCHES. 


263 


when  the  last  day  of  thy  life  shall  come,  when  the  fading 
eye,  the  faintly  fluttering  pulse,  and  feebly  coming  breath 
shall  fearfully  reveal  to  thee  the  mysteries  of  death,  thou 
wilt  not,  like  the  wintry  night  wind,  pass  away  in  wail- 
ing and  in  darkness,  but,  lighted  by  His  smile,  thou  mayst 
come  to  that  pure  place,  whose  glories  are  unchanged  by 
time  —  an  eternity  has  passed,  nor  left  the  impress  of  an 
hour  within  its  golden  portals ;  another  eternity  succeeds, 
and  not  a  breath  shall  dim  its  fadeless  beauty.  There 
with  the  angels,  thine  elder  brethren,  thou  mayst  trace 
with  rapture  ever  new,  holy  and  increasing  still,  the 
riches  of  that  grace  which  stooped  even  from  the  circle 
of  eternity,  to  purify  and  raise  so  frail  a  being  thus  to 
become  an  *  heir  of  God.' " 


BEAUTY  OF  CONTENTMENT. 


"  What  is  the  matter,  Sarah?  "  said  a  lady  the  other 
day  to  her  daughter,  who  slowly  entered  the  room  with 
a  cloud  upon  her  usually  calm  brow,  like  a  shadow  of  un- 
happy thoughts  ;  "  what  has  happened  to  you?  " 

"  Why,  nothing  has  happened  to  me,"  replied  she,  pet- 
ulantly, "  but  I  do  hate  to  be  so  poor.  I  have  just  been 
to  Mrs.  Shaw's,  to  deliver  that  letter  and  the  message  ; 
she  wa.^  not  in,  so  I  waited  in  the  parlor.  Such  elegant 
parLiS !  her  carpets  looked  like  the  richest  white  velvet 
covered  with  flowers;  then  there  were  crimson  cush- 
ioned chairs  and  sofas,  chandeliers  glittering  and  sparkling 
in  the  centre  of  each  room,  and  many  elegant  things  of 
which  I  did  not,  know  the  name  or  use.  I  declare  that 
I  Wc!!-  really  dir^zy  with  the  splendor.  Crimson  curtains 
d  iiake  such  a  r'-h,  pleasant  Ught  in  a  room  !  I  wish — 
1  really  could  not  nelp  feehng  dissatisfied  at  the  mere 


264 


SELECT     WRITING?. 


idea  of  coming  home  again,  and  do  n't  see  why  such 
was  not  my  lot.  I  am  sure  I  should  be  just  as  happy  as 
the  day  is  long." 

"  But  why  not  be  happy  now,  Sarah  ?  We  have  every 
thing  comfortable,  more  than  comfortable." 

"  I  did  not  think  at  first  how  ungrateful  I  was,  but  yet 
I  cannot  have  things  at  all  as  I  would  like  them.  I 
know  we  are  not  very  poor,  yet  there  are  a  great  many 
things,  which,  although  I  am  not  suffering  for  them,  I 
really  want " 

"And  after  all,  my  dear,  none  but  what  you  can  do 
pretty  well  without.  I  should  be  glad  if  you  had  every 
thing  as  you  would  like,  but, —  think  a  moment, —  where 
can  you  find  a  moment  in  which  blessings  more  priceless 
than  gold  have  been  withheld  or  limited?  O,  if  we 
could  realize  each  word  and  thought,  coming  with  all  its 
pollution  and  ingratitude,  singly  into  the  presence  of  God, 
before  His  searching  eye,  how  careful  should  we  be  of  our 
thoughts  —  how  differently  should  we  speak  I"  Sarah 
sighed,  and  rested  her  head  upon  her  hand.  "  I  could 
describe  to  you  a  scene,"  continued  her  mother,  "  no 
fancy  sketch,  which  is  indeed  a  different  picture.  At 
the  foot  of  a  narrow  lane  extending  from  a  dirty  street, 
far  away  from  the  walks  of  wealth  and  br-uity,  where 
fashion  never  treads,  is  the  humble  residence  of  a  poor 
widow  with  three  children ;  the  room  in  which  they 
dwell  is  low  and  comfortless  ;  a  broken  table,  with  each 
ft  stool,  and  one  miserable  bed,  constitute  her  list  of  fur- 
niture. They  were  visited  the  other  day  by  a  friend  of 
mine  ;  she  found  them  with  scarcely  clothing  enough  to 
keep  them  warm.  When  she  entered,  the  little  ones 
were  crouching  over  an  almost  extinguished  fire ;  the 
mother,  looking  pale  and  sickly,  was  finishing  a  piece  of 
sewing  upon  which  she  had  been  employed ;  the  two 


SKETCHES. 


265 


such 

py  as 

every 

utyet 

m.     I 

many 

lem,  I 

ian  do 
[  every 
.  where 
ficeless 
if  we 
ti  all  its 
of  God. 
e  of  our 
Sarah 
I  could 


eldest  girls,  of  nine  and  seven,  had  been  reading  from  a 
much  worn  book,  which,  as  she  entered,  one  rose  and 
laid  upon  the  mantel-piece.  One,  of  about  three  years, 
upon  whose  cold,  thin  cheeks  were  the  traces  of  recent 
tears,  and  whose  eyelashes  were  still  wet,  was  sitting  in 
the  corner,  rocking  her  little  head  back  and  forth,  singing 
low, — 

♦1  wish  my  mother  was  a  queen.' 

At  first  the  poor  woman  could  scarcely  raise  her  eyes 
from  her  work,  but  shortly  it  was  completed,  and  she 
conversed  more  freely.  Few  hearts  had  been  so  disci- 
plined. Although  always  dependent  upon  their  own 
labor  for  support,  yet  early  life  had  found  them  much 
prospered,  until  a  cloud  gathered  blackness  above  them  ; 
their  rising  hopes  were  crushed  by  repeated  and  unfore- 
seen losses.  Of  all  the  treasures  which  industry  had 
garnered  up,  none  were  left ;  they  looked  to  Ilim  who 
had  permitted  it,  and  were  quiet  in  the  answer,  '  The 
kingdom  of  heaven.'  But  a  more  bitter  dreg  remained 
in  their  cup  of  sorrow ;  death  came  and  bore  from  them 
the  husband  and  the  father.  Yet  even  this  was  not 
without  its  blessing,  for,  rich  in  faith,  his  spirit  fled,  and 
led  their  hearts  to  God. 

"As  the  poor  woman  gave  her  story,  her  voice  trem- 
bled, and  she  added,  I  will  not  complain  — '  His  praise 
shall  continually  be  in  my  mouth.'  She  had  obtained  a 
Httle  employment,  for  the  most  trifling  compensation, 
not  enough  to  procure  for  them  the  food  and  fuel  neces- 
sary ;  but  even  this  favor  would  be  of  short  duration. 
She  had,  she  said,  no  r,rospect  of  any  thing  more  to  do 
at  presQUt.  '  What  will  become  of  us,  mother  ? '  asked 
the  eldest,  softly.  The  poor  woman  glanced  towards  the 
Bible,  fro?j^  which  they  had  been  reading  to  her,  then 
23 


866 


SELECT     WRITINGS. 


raised  her  eyes :  they  hecame  moist,  the  momentary  c  lor 
of  excitenu  .1  .0"  ]  m  cheek  and  lips,  but  her  hai^Js 
were  f  .'nuJ  cMi'  'i/,  and  in  her  upward  cast  of  counte- 
nance was  an  expression  of  trust, — trust,  not  based  upon 
'  the  world  that  now  is,'  but  anchored  in  heaven.  She 
replied,  '  You  just  read  to  me  about  the  poor  widow 
whose  meal  and  cmse  of  oil  %iled  not.  God  is  the 
same;  His  providence  .:^  us  watchful  now  as  then;  we 
are  his  children.' 

"  She  took  the  sacred  word  and  said,  '  Here  is  our 
treasure,  we  have  none  upon  earth ;  but  within  this  en- 
velope, is  the  legacy  of  a  patrimony  above,  which  fadeth 
not  away.  He  who  was  our  guide,  has  already  gone  to 
possess  it ;  let  us  be  steadfast  in  the  faith,  lest  ourselves 
be  found  in  that  day  not  to  have  obtained  it.' 

The  two  eldest  sobbed  aloud,  the  little  one  came 
from  the  corner,  and  laid  her  head  upon  her  mother's 
knee.  She  took  a  hand  of  each,  and  said,  '  My  'lildren, 
He  who  plumes  the  wing,  and  forgets  not  the  food  of  the 
young  birds  when  they  cry,  will  also  supply  us ;  but  if 
not,  though  all  things  else  should  fail  us, —  even  '  though 
our  earthly  house  of  this  ta^  .^-nacle  were  dissolved.  He 
will  minister  unto  us  an  abundant  entrance  into  '  The 
kingdom  of  heaven.'' " 


THE  SPIDER. 

••Then  let  us  injt  o'erlook  this  race 
Of  creatures,  though  so  small  ; 
But  in  thf'ir  fo'  "  H'm  wisdom  trace, 
Who  «'>    ies  aiid  feeds  tiiem  all." 


"  My  stars !     Do  you  i^  0  that  great,  ugly  spider,  on 
the  window?"  exciaimed   Lucretia,  jumping  from  her 


SKETCHES. 


267 


seat,  near  the  dreaded  insect;  and,  seizing  a  little  brush, 
she  was  about  to  commence  an  attack,  when  her  mother 
interposed,  and  the  spider  was  saved. 

"  I  think  it  is  not  a  half  hour.  Lucre tia,  since  I  heard 
you  say  how  glad  you  should  be  if  you  coiUd  learn  as 
much  as  one  new  thing  every  day,  this  year.  If  you 
would  observe  the  works  of  Nature, —  rather,  I  should 
say  of  God, —  so  constantly  in  our  path,  that  we  do  not 
appreciate  their  perfection, —  it  would  afford  you  more 
than  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  new  and  valuable  ideas 
in  the  course  of  a  year." 

"  O,  but  mother  I "  said  Lucretia,  half-shuddering, 
"  siich  a  horrid  crawling  creature  !  If  it  had  wings  in- 
stead of  such  great  legs,  it  would  not  seem  so  bad. 
Ugh  I  I  feel  as  if  they  were  on  me  now." 

"  You  should  not  allow  yourself  to  be  so  much  dis- 
tuibed  by  things  so  harmless,  merely  because  they  are 
not  what  you  consider  beautiful.  When  first  He  made 
them,  '  God  saw  that  they  were  good;'  and  if  we  would 
examine  them,  our  very  souls  would  be  awed  by  the 
depth  of  wisdom  with  which  they  are  formed.  Come 
and  sit  here  a  few  moments  with  me,  and  let  us  watch 
yon    little  unconscious  enemy. 

'  flier o  are  many  kinds  of  spiders  with  which  we  are 
familiar;  the  water  spider,  which  is  amphibious,  that 
means,  you  know,  it  can  exist  in  or  out  of  water,  at  its 
pleasure.  If  I  had  time,  I  should  like  to  tell  you  of  this 
ingenious  little  creature,  how  it  prepares  a  thick  wnb, 
which,  as  well  as  its  body,  it  covers  with  a  kind  of  var- 
nish ;  then  how  it  fills  lliis  little  web  with  air,  and  thus 
goes  down  under  tlic  stream.  Adhere,  far  away  from  storm 
and  ^ouds,  it  prepai  os  a  home,  clean  and  dry,  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  water.  Then  there  is  the  gossamer  spider^ 
which  sometimes  floats  about  in  the  air,  upon  a  web  of 


268 


SELECT     WRITINGS. 


its  own  spinning.  Perhaps  when  you  have  been  in  the 
country,  you  have  seen  in  the  morning  these  little  webs 
all  around  upon  the  grass,  covered  with  dew. 

"  But  this  is  the  common  house  spider,  and  understands 
managing  its  little  household  very  well,  I  assure  you.  If 
we  had  a  microscope,  you  could  perceive  that  its  head, 
breast  and  feet,  are  covered  with  scales,  the  rest  of  its 
body  with  hair.  They  cannot  turn  their  eyes  like  most 
other  creatures,  so  they  have  been  supplied  with  several, 
in  different  parts  of  the  head,  eight,  I  think.  At  the  end 
of  each  foot  there  is  a  claw ;  the  lower  part  of  the  body 
is  furnished  with  thousands  of  little  tubes,  called  spin- 
ners, from  which  the  silk  of  the  web  proceed!:^,  so  that, 
when  the  thread  is  so  fine  we  can  scarce  perceive  it,  'tis 
composed  of  at  least  four  thousand  strands. 

"  Watch  its  movements  for  a  moment,  it  is  walking 
slowly  about  as  if  planning  its  work;  I  imagine  it  is 
preparing  to  construct  a  web.  See,  it  is  examining  iLe 
crack  beside  the  window,  that  it  may  be  sure  to  escape 
in  case  of  danger.  Now  it  has  already  commenced  its 
work  by  glueing  one  end  of  the  thread  to  the  casement; 
now  it  goes  across  the  window  pane,  and  fastens  the 
other  end  with  glue,  and  pulls  it,  to  make  it  quite  tight; 
now  it  fixes  another  thread  close  by  that,  while  it  runs 
back  upon  the  first,  guiding  the  second  with  one  of  its 
claws  lest  it  should  be  joined  to  the  other,  and  fastens  it 
where  it  first  began ;  and  so  on  until  all  the  cross  threads 
are  done ;  then  beginning  in  the  middle  it  goes  round 
and  round,  fastening  the  little  circular  threads  in  the 
same  curious  way  until  all  are  completed. 

"  Sometimes  they  place  themselves  in  the  centre  to 
watch  their  prey.  Sometimes  they  retire  to  a  hole  or 
crack,  from  which  they  dart  suddenly  out,  if  an  unwary 
fly  should  become  entangled  in  the  web." 


SKETCHKS. 


269 


Lucretia  rose,  and  put  up  the  bmsh.  "  I  confess," 
said  she,  "  I  do  not  like  to  destroy  so  ingenious  a  work- 
man.* Much  as  I  despised  that  humble  insect,  it  has  led 
my  mind  to  God.  How  perfect  must  He  be  in  every  at- 
tribute, who  thus  condescends  to  provide  for  the  most 
insignificant  of  his  creatures ! " 

"  Perfection,  above  our  comprehension,  Lucretia, 
When  the  mighty  mind  of  man  stoops  from  its  angel  fel- 
lowship, forgets,  denies  the  existence  of  our  glorious 
Grod,  these,  unheeded  as  His  works,  still  remain  his  faith- 
ful witnesses,  and  upon  their  supple  web,  in  fadeless 
characters,  weave  this  tmth  —  God  Hveth  for  ever.  Nor 
these  alone :  Of  all  the  breathing  animalcules  in  a  drop 
of  dew,  or  in  the  span  of  air  we  breathe,  and  of  all 
the  insect  tribe  upon  a  grain  of  sand,  not  one  is  silent  to 
His  praise ;  but  their  voice  is  heard  mingling  with  the 
storm  wind,  with  the  '  sound  of  many  waters,'  and  with 
all  the  glorious  of  His  works,  in  that  solemn  hymn,  echo- 
ing in  the  spirit's  ear, — God  liveth  for  ever." 


THE  SAVIOR'S  VISIT  TO  THE  SISTERS  OF  BETHANY. 


i' 
a' 


The  shades  of  night  were  gathering  fast  and  silently 
around  the  base  of  Olivet;  the  evening  breeze  was 
heard  rustling  from  leaf  to  leaf  among  its  fruitful  trees  ; 
the  last  beam  of  sunlight  faded ;  and  with  it  was  hushed 
the  mingled  din  of  labor  in  Jerusalem.  It  was  the  hour 
of  evening  sacrifice ; —  and  Kedron's  tide  bore  on  beyond 
the  city  walls  the  daily  victim's  blood,  until  the  hour 
should  come  when  He  who  was  the  "  brightness  of  the 
Father's  glory,"  now  dwelling  imacknowledged  by  the 
side  of  that  polluted  altar,  should  "  make  his  soul  an 
offering  for  sin." 

23* 


270 


SELECT     WBITINGS. 


A  few  distant  Hghts  revealed  the  humble  town  of 
Bethany  where  our  Savior,  persecuted  and  perplexed 
by  the  rebellious  Jews,  would  often  come  with  ^eary 
feet,  to  rest  his  homeless  form  and  aching  head  upon 
the  arm  of  human  friendship ;  in  his  love  concealing 
from  the  little  group  that  infinite  divinity  which  he 
knew  would  so  o'erwhelra  their  trusting  hearts.  As  he 
sat,  and  in  familiar  terms  revealed  to  them  the  glories  of 
the  upper  world,  and  the  blessings  of  that  better  part  he 
bade  them  choose,  the  listening  Mary,  the  busy  Martha, 
and  the  beloved  Lazarus  forgot  the  fear  and  cares  of 
poverty,  and  while  their  hearts  burned  within  them, 
thought  he  was  a  prophet  mighty  in  deed  and  word. 

But  now  they  were  alone;  and  Lazarus  whom  he 
loved  was  sick  to  death.  Almost  hopeless,  the  sisters 
wiped  the  chilHng  sweat  from  his  cold  forehead,  or 
watched  the  soul's  light  receding  from  the  glazed  eye, 
and  now  a  moment  turned  to  gaze  along  the  darkened 
mountain  road,  for  the  expected  form  of  him,  who  th<'y 
believed  would  yet  control  the  fierce  disea.se,  and  bid 
their  brother  live.  The  moon  and  stars  shone  dovm  in 
quiet ;  no  coming  foot,  no  sound  was  there,  save  of  the 
shepherd  as  he  slowly  trod  to  guard  his  flock.  Could  it 
be  that  Jesus  had  forgot  their  lowliness,  or  left  them  in 
this  hour  of  grief  for  happier  friends?  No;  he  was 
himself  "  a  man  of  sorrows."  Then  wherefore  came  he 
not?  For  as  yet  they  knew  not  all  the  Scriptures,  nor 
the  power  of  God,  nor  that,  though  his  visible  presence 
blest  the  dwellers  by  Jordan,  his  omniprea  n*  opirit 
was  with  them  in  holy  sympathy  around  the  bed  of 
death,  inspiring  in  their  hearts  those  scarce  admitted 
hopes,  that  he  would  yet  come  and  raise  their  brother, 
even  fiom  the  sealed  up  portals  of  the  grave. 

And  then  with  silent  steps  they  would  come  again  to 


SKETCHES. 


271 


wm  of 

plexed 

^eary 

I  upon 

3ealing 

ich  he 
As  he 

ories  of 

part  he 

Martha, 

;ares  of 

I  them, 

ord. 

horn  he 

3  sisters 

lead,  or 

zed  eye, 

larkened 

^ho  th'^y 
and  bid 
ovrn  in 
of  the 
Could  it 
them  in 
he  was 
came  he 
ures,  nor 
presence 
opirit 
bed  of 
admitted 
brother, 

again  to 


V* 


smooth  their  brother's  pillow  in  his  agony,  and  whisper 
in  his  ear  the  name  he  loved  so  much  to  hear,  that  he 
might  wake  in  Heaven,  —  that  precious  passport  on  his 
lips,  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ. 

Bending  above  his  head  to  catch  the  last  word  from 
his  death  bound  tongue ;  one  moment  listening  to  his 
fluttering  breath ;  one  moment  searching  for  his  scatter- 
ing pulse ;  one  moment's  eager  pressure  of  his  heart, — 
now  motionless;  —  and  then  they  closed  his  eyes. 

The  fourth  day  came.  Wearied  with  his  journey, 
the  Savior  paused  beside  the  burial  place  of  Bethany. 
The  sisters  came,  and  falling  at  his  t^et,  exclaimed, 
"  Lord,  if  thou  hadst  been  here,  our  brother  had  not 
died."  Jesus  said,  "  Thy  brother  shall  rise  again." 
They  knew  that  he  would  at  the  last  day,  when  all, 
when  you  and  I  shall  rise.  But  when  they  saw  his 
spirit  troubled  by  their  sorrow,  and  looked  upon  his  holy 
countenance,  while  he  uttered  those  words  in  which  we 
trust,  —  "I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life," —  their 
eyes  were  opened,  and  amidst  overflowing  tears  they 
worshipped  him. 

And  "  Jesus  wept." 

They  came  aruund  the  sepulchre ;  the  massive  stone 
was  rolled  away,  and  Jesus,  standing  in  the  entrance, 
raised  his  voice  to  God  in  prayer,  that  those  who  heard 
might  thus  believe.  Above  him  was  the  calm  clear  air, 
so  still  that  almost  could  be  heard  the  beat  of  angels' 
wings,  with  the  spirit  hastening  back ;  below  him  was 
the  dark,  damp  cave,  where  death  was  waiting  to 
restore  his  prey.  The  command  was  heard.  There 
was  a  moment's  pause,  while  nature  repaired  her 
stricken  tendons,  and  wound  her  clogged  main-spring 
up :  —  one  moment  —  then  life  awoke  within  the  folded 
shroud,  and  Lazarus  came  forth ! 


2td 


SELECT    WRITINGS. 


THE   CORONATION. 


As  two  little  girls  were  returning  from  school,  before 
me,  the  other  day,  I  heard  one  of  them  say  to  the  other, 
"I  wish  I  lived  in  England;  then  I  would  goto  see 
the  queen.  O !  I  would  give  any  thing  to  be  at  her 
coronation.  I  should  so  hke  to  see  how  a  queen  does 
look." 

"  So  should  I,"  said  the  other ;  "  I  do  not  really  know 
what  a  coronation  means,  but  I  heard  some  one  call  it, 
a  '  splendid  event.'  " 

"  My  father,"  said  the  first,  "  was  telling  me  about  it 
last  night ;  he  said  it  was  the  ceremony  of  placing  the 
crown  upon  her  head,  in  token  of  her  royalty.  And 
then,  you  know,  she  will  be  a  queen  always ;  her  dress 
all  gold,  and  rubies,  and  diamonds ;  and  every  body  will 
bow  themselves  as  she  passes ;  and  the  whole  nation 
be  anxious  to  gain  her  favor,  and  do  her  some  service. 
I  should  like  to  be  a  queen  —  would  not  you?" 

And  the  other  replied :  "  Yes,  if  I  knew  how  to 
govern  well,  I  should." 

And  I  would  like  to  have  said  to  them,  as  I  now  i«ay 
to  these  little  readers.  You  may  be  queens.  I  do  not 
mean  that  you  can  ever  hold  the  sceptre  of  a  nation, 
but  y^u  can  govern  yourselves.  Be  queen  of  your  own 
heart,  that  you  may  banish  every  evil  thought  or  wish, 
as  a  queen  would  a  rebellious  subject ;  nor  would  this 
be  without  its  glory  or  rev  rd. 

We  may  imagine,  in  part,  the  scene  of  the  coronation 
as  it  will  occur  —  the  long  galleries  of  that  stupendous 
building  —  the  old  Westminster  Abbey  —  fi'led  with  all 
the  beauty,  wealth  and  nobiUty  of  the  nation  ;  the  throng 
of  horseraen  and  officers,  their  armor  gleaming  in  the 


SKETCHES. 


273 


sunbeams,  reflecting  light  upon  the  diamonds  o^  their 
gold  and  crimson  dresses ;  jewelled  coronets  sparkling  in 
profusion  'midst  waving  plumes ;  then  the  music ;  loud 
and  deep,  8,s  it  rolls  above  the  crowd  —  the  prayer  — 
the  queen  kneeling  before  the  altar,  while  upon  the 
stillness  of  the  ceremony  we  often  hear  the  shouts  of 
the  people  as  they  echo  and  echo  through  the  high 
arches  of  that  ancient  edifice. 

But  let  us  remember,  these  "  splendid  events"  are  not 
the  things  "into  which  the  ungeh  desire  to  look." 
These  affairs  which  so  agitate  the  breasts  even  of  a 
nation,  calling  forth  the  long,  loud  acclamations  of  a 
multitude,  break  not  upon  the  still  rapture  of  Heaven. 
From  Ilis  holy  presence  no  hasty  glance,  no  truant 
thought  wanders  back  to  earth,  for  scenes  like  these. 
The  magnificence  which  so  dazzles  our  eyes  is  dim  and 
valueless,  when  we  remember  liow  soon  the  light  of 
eternity  will  shine  upon  it. 

Life's  journey  is  short  and  soon  accomplished.  Our 
errand  here  is  not  with  the  "  pomp  and  circumstance"  of 
earth ;  a  destiny  is  ours,  higher  than  an  earthly  throne ; 
more  glorious  than  the  gifts  of  gold  and  diadem;  more 
enduring  than  the  world  itself 

The  mighty  and  the  loftiest  of  other  ages  have  passed 
like  the  noiseless  mist  from  earth ;  they  have  forsaken 
their  kingdom  and  gone  to  lie  dov/n  in  tho  grave ; 
whence  they  return  not  to  rcla!\die  the  light  of  their 
fame,  extinguished  in  the  shadow^i  of  mortality,  nor 
revisit  their  palaces  in  which  the  dust  of  centuries  has 
gathered 

Biit  from  these  comes  a  voice,  saying .  "  God  alone  is 
great."  If  humble,  we  are  His  children.  Though  the 
place  of  our  repose  be  unknown  ;  thcagh  our  names  are 
unwritten  in  treasured  records,  yet  wo  me  not  forgotten 


«74 


SELECT     WRITINGS. 


before  God ;  for  we  know  that  "  when  He  shall  appear 
we  shall  be  like  Him ; "  by  His  word  born  again  from  the 
dust  with  which  we  may  have  mingled  for  ages,  to  re- 
ceive an  inheritance  "  in  His  presence  where  is  fulness 
of  joy,  and  at  whose  right  hand  are  pleasures  for  ever- 
more." 


THISTLE-DOWN. 


Sitting,  a  short  time  since,  by  my  window,  as  the  long 
shadov/s  across  the  landscape  were  losing  themselves 
in  the  dim  approaching  twilight,  fancy  ^  '.me  with  more 
than  sunset  beauty,  and  arcmd  me  throw  the  caerished 
shadows  of  the  past.  Distance  melted  away ;  home 
and  friends,  in  pure  and  sweet  conniunion,  were  present 
to  my  mind  —  all  in  varying  succession  came  and  went. 
My  little  Sabbath  class  seemed  clustered  around  me,  as 
they  were  wont  :;o  do —  Sarah,  Celia,  Lucretia,  Caroline 
—  my  heart  was  glad,  and  bade  them  welcome  to  my 
thoughts.  The  moments  sped  swiftly  as  the  shades  of 
night  rolled  on,  and  when  above  the  wooded  hill-tops 
the  reflected  sunbeams  were  fading  from  the  east,  stars 
came  gently  glimmering. 

A  light  breeze  passed,  and  bore  upon  its  course  a  floating 
whorl  of  thistle-down ;  a  moment  it  was  entangled  on  the 
casement,  until  a  friendly  breath  of  air  again  set  it  free 
and  wafted  it  away.  Whence  came  that  litt!  traveller 
so  late  upon  its  journey?  P.-^rbaps  for  many  days  it  has 
been  floating  thus  along,  and  many  more  might  come  ere 
it  should  fall  upon  the  opei.  soil  to  rest.  Or  perhaps  it 
had  but  just  set  out,  and  ere  the  morning  dawn,  its  little 
errand  would  be  done.  To  us  '  tis  ail  the  same,  for  who 
hoeds  its  light  passage,  or  asks  the  c'.^ject  of  its  mission 


SKETCHES. 


275 


forth.  Yet  let  us  not  forget  the;  lessc  it  may  give ;  that 
its  course  is  not  unguided,  but  it  is  to  fall  upou  some 
genial  sod,  and  when  the  wintiy  storms  are  passed,  the 
little  seed  it  bears  will  bud  and  blossom. 

The  autumn  leaf,  which,  circling  round  and  round,  in 
silence  falls  upon  the  earth,  within  its  bosom  bears  no 
seed,  the  embryo  promise  of  another  spring ;  but  the 
winds  of  night  hurry  it  away ;  the  snows  of  winter  bury 
it  in  brown  decay ;  its  /reshness  can  never  be  restored ; 
but  the  little  thistle-down,  ra  the  still,  warm  hour,  comes 
forth  from  its  thorny  home,  and  raised  aloft  upon  its  silver 
plumage,  passes  on  by  His  command  and  care,  whose 
hand  supports  and  guides  alike  its  airy  circle,  or  the 
wheeling  orb  on  which  we  live. 

And  we,  like  it,  shall  pass  away.  To  us  it  is  unknown 
whether  the  weariness  and  woes  of  a  long  pilgrimage  be 
ours,  or  to  be  gathered  in  that  full  unequal  harvest,  not 
alone  of  ripened  fruit  and  ready  bending  sheaves,  but 
earliest,  fairest  flowers.  Nor  matters  it.  The  priceless 
gift  of  life,  with  all  its  sweet  endearments,  is  not  to  us  a 
blessing,  if  its  noble  object  be  unfulfilled.  Permitted  by 
our  Savior's  constant  intercession,  still  to  rejoice  in  this 
world  so  full  of  beauty,  let  us  not  forget  there  are  bright 
visions  of  glory  and  beauty  in  the  world  above  ;  here  are 
the  lovely  and  beloved  of  our  bosoms,  but  we  are  to 
prepare  ourselves  for  intercourse  with  the  angels,  for  the 
friendship  of  God  ?  Here  are  spread  before  us  the  reve- 
lations of  our  Father's  attributes  —  so  deep,  mysterious 
and  sublime,  that  we  almost  shrink  before  them;  yet 
these  are  but  the  rudiments  of  those  lessons  it  will  be 
one  bliss  to  learn  above ;  and  when  from  these  we  turn, 
thirsting  for  fuller  displays,  then  shall  we  rise  and  be  led 
to  the  fountain  of  knowledge.  With  adoration  on  our 
lips,  we  shall  no  longer  with  trembling  hand  scarce  ven- 


><»s*l^ 


276 


SELECT     WRITINGS. 


ture  to  turn  the  pages  of  His  wisdom,  but  encouraged  by 
his  smile,  we  may  look  into  those  hings  we  know  not 
now. 

Then  let  us  hasten  in  the  path  of  knowledge,  for  its 
brightness  will  lead  us  on  to  endless  life  and  light. 


THE  MESSENGER  OF  PEACE. 

"  How   beautiful  upon  the   mounti.ins  are  the  feet  of  him   that 
bringeth  good  tidings,  that  publiwhoth  peace." 

When  the  warriors  of  the  Hebrew  tribes  went  up 
against  their  enemies,  and  lingered  long  upon  (he  battle- 
field, in  dreadful  conflict  for  their  homes,  iheir  holy  city, 
and  their  temple,  and  fear  and  faith  alternate  kept  their 
watch  with  the  faint  and  feeble  left  behind ;  when  the 
flocks  failed,  and  the  'dne  drooped  because  of  the  hand 
of  the  oppressor,  and  darkness  was  Upon  all  the  land  for 
sorrow ;  then  how  beautiful  upon  the  distant  mountains 
seemed  the  feet  of  Him  who  came  with  Avords  of 
"  Peace,"  and  song  of  "  Victory  I "  Blessings  sprang  up 
as  he  passed  ;  the  dull  eye  brightened  as  it  beheld  him ; 
and  the  heavy  ear,  listening,  trembling,  welcomed  the 
pcho  of  his  voice ;  the  weak  hand  was  nerved  again  to 
labor,  and  the  trembling  knee  grew  strong ;  "  the  little 
hills  Rejoiced  on  every  side,  and  all  the  trees  of  the  field 
clapped  their  hands."  That  messenger  passed  on,  and 
years  rolled  by ;  that  song  of  victory  ceased,  and  they 
who  fought,  and  they  who  listened,  followed  with  life's 
busy,  ever-moving  multitude  to  the  silent  grave.  So 
brighten  and  decay  the  hopes  and  joys  of  earth. 

But  lo,  another  song  awoke,  and  angels  joined  the 
strain ;  another  messenger  appeared,  and  there  was  light. 
God  was  reconciled  to  earth.     Centuries  have  passed  ; 


SKETCHRS. 


277 


still,  onward  as  he  travels  in  his  strength,  from  the  dark 
places  of  the  earth  the  shadows  flee  away;  the  wilder- 
ness and  the  solitary  places  are  glad,  and  the  desert  re- 
joices and  blossoms  as  the  rose ;  the  lame  man  leaps  to 
meet  him,  and  the  tongue  of  the  dumb  sings  for  joy ; 

•'  The  dwellers  in  tho  vales,  and  on  the  rocks 
Shout  to  each  other ;  and  the  mountain  tops, 
From  distant  mountains,  catch  the  flying  joy." 

The  Prince  of  Peace  has  come,  and  He  shall  reign 
from  the  river  unto  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and  of  His 
kingdom  there  shall  be  no  end. 

On  many  lands  has  His  glory  risen,  and  His  blessed 
name  been  written.  Now  as  He  speaks  in  love  withiji 
the  bosom  whore  His  Spirit  dwells,  enkindling  there  a 
more  intense  zeal  for  His  glory,  He  advances  before  His 
people,  inviting  them  onward  to  "  teach  all  nations,"  to 
scatter  among  them  that  word  once  received  by  the 
dispensation  of  angels  and  of  Christ  himself,  but  now 
consigned  a  sacred  trust  to  His  church.  His  Providence 
prepares  the  way;  and,  although  this  may  sometimes  be 
but  dimly  seen,  and,  through  Jong  months  of  gloomy  dis- 
couragement, no  light  appear  save  that  which  trembling 
faith  descries  upon  the  ])romises,  yet  have  His  people 
learned  to  tiiist  His  woril,  and  wait,  although  He  tarry 
long,  knowing  that  He  that  shall  come  will  come.  By 
means  to  them  unknown,  is  He  surely  preparing  to  claim 
the  inheritance  of  the  heathen  for  His  own.  Every 
prayer  of  faith  is  treasured,  the  smallest  sanctified  offer- 
ing for  His  cause,  is  recorded,  and  each  distinguished  in 
heaven,  by  some  influence  in  undermining  the  founda- 
tions of  the  throne  of  sin.  Every  year,  are  results  of 
these  made  known  to  earth.  From  the  north,  and  from 
the  south  are  borne  tidings  of  salvation ;  from  the  isles 

24 


2t8 


SELECT    WRITINGS. 


of  the  sea  comes  up  the  same  joyful  sound ;  and  now 
o'er  the  "West  "  the  day  breaketh."  The  poor  Indian  has 
hailed  the  servants  of  Immanuel,  and  as  his  ready  faith 
embraces  the  Cross,  new  peace  and  joy  begin  to  cheer 
his  lonely  wigwam. 

The  followers  of  Christ  in  our  happy  land  lift  up  their 
eyes  to  those  once  "  gloomy  hills  of  darkness,"  and  be- 
holding afar  off  the  spreading  light,  gather  at  the  feet  of 
Jesus,  and  mingling  their  thanksgivings  with  these  new- 
born disciples,  exclaim  together  with  them,  "  How  beau- 
tiful upon  the  mountains  are  the  feet  of  Ilira  that  bringeth 
good  tidings,  that  publisheth  peace." 


HOME. 

"Love  unchanged  is  there." 

Autumn,  bright,  lovely  autumn  has  been  here.  In 
silence  it  passed  along  and  decked  our  daily  paths  with 
many  colored  gifts ;  it  breathed  upon  our  clustering  for- 
ests, and  they  suddenly  in  richest  beauty  stood ;  upon 
the  atmosphere  it  breathed,  and  morning  dawned  with 
purer  light;  the  noonday  sun  looked  down  with  softened 
rays  upon  the  smiling  earth,  and  slowly  sank  at  night 
below  the  western  horizon,  sending  up  his  latest  beams 
in  calmer,  more  celestial  glory. 

Autumn  has  been  here,  and  although  its  purple  robe 
now  lingers  upon  the  distant  hills,  and  its  blush  still 
brightens  the  cold  clouds  of  nightfall,  yet  the  shadows 
of  approaching  winter  are  gathering  fast,  and  falling  even 
at  our  feet.  The  trees,  which,  a  few  days  since  were 
bright  in  changing  drapery,  have  cast  aside  their  withered 
leaves,  and  str.iid  prepared  to  wrestle  with  the  storm. 
All  the  beautiful  and  frail  of  summer's  creation  have 


SKETCHES. 


279 


faded  quick  away,  and  the  wind  moans  by  over  their  de- 
pfiurture.  Lonely  id  melancholy  the  heart  looks  within 
—  it  turns  to  the  u.  ar  enclosure  of  home  affections,  to 
gather  richer  sweets  from  the  amaranths  of  the  bright 
fireside. 

Home  —  a  thousand  blessings  on  the  word  I  I  sigh  to 
hail  it  once  again.  Ye  days  and  nights,  which  in  diurnal 
coiurse  encircle  our  earth,  fly  swiftly  m,  and  bring  the 
welcome  hour. 

Ye  weeks  which  frown  between  us,  haste  away ;  ye 
chilling  frosts,  haste ;  with  youi  icy  fingers,  in  the  still 
midiight,  tinge  with  deeper  shado  these  seared  fields ; 
bid  L-e  latest  bird  which  lingers  here,  to  spread  its  wings 
and  hasten  off  to  warmer  skies,  to  groves  perennial ; — 
for  when  those  have  ceased  their  notes,  perhaps  I  may 
go  home.  Ye  streams,  in  gently  murmuring  numbers, 
haste — pass  swiftly  on  beyond  the  eastern  shore,  for 
when  ye  there  are  mingled  with  the  deep  —  perhaps  I 
may  go  home.  Ye  little  timorous  race,  which  come  with 
light  and  rustling  steps  to  gather  nuts  among  the  leaves 
— haste  with  your  store  to  the  hom^  which  Providence 
has  given  you ;  when  ye  are  shelte^'cd  there  from  hoary 
winter's  storm,  I  too  perhaps  shall  b    at  home  I 

But  has  Providence  thus  marked  tue  course  of  day 
and  night — thus  given  skill  to  the  cold  frost-spirit  which 
art  can  never  imitate  —  thus  seasonably  docs  He 
clothe  the  trees,  and  nourish  every  leaf —  thus  grant  pro- 
tection to  the  birds  through  the  long  ^ammer  months,  thus 
guide  their  flight  to  warmer  skies  —  laus  does  He  provide 
food  and  shelter  for  the  defenceless  auimals,  and  insect 
tribes  —  thus  with  His  finger  trace  the  course  of  these  lit- 
tle brooks,  and  mingle  their  waters  lovingly  with  the  high 
waves  of  ocean  unlost?  And  is  tli..  the  same  Being 
who  remembers  all  our  wants?  who  will  never  be  one 
moment  absent  from  our  side  ?     Nearer  is  He  than  any 


280 


SELECT    WRITINGS. 


friend  can  be  to  us  —  between  us  and  the  n'r  which  fans 

oar  check  —  between  us  and  the   light  v   ich  gathers 

round  us ;  and  when  death  shall  come,  lie  will  place 
his  wing  of  Love  between  the  mortal  and  the  spiritual, 

that  the  last  enemy  slay  us  not  I 

Be  at  home  !     This  beauteous  world  in  which  we  live 

was  framed,  and  is  preserved  by  our  kind  Father,  for 

His  household ;  the  fragrant  morn,  and  dewy,  holy  eve, 

the  glorious  sun,  and  silver  moon,  and  glittering  stars 

are  His — arc  ours.     Then  if  beside  our  Fa/'her's  seat 

we  are  reclining  on  His  breast,  communing  with  His 

children  —  this  is  home  —  until  He  brings  us  to  rejoice 

in  His  visible  glory,  to  the  general  assembly  and  church 

of  the  first-born,  to  the  society  of  angels,  to  the  sister 

spirits  of  the  just  made  perfect,  in  that  better  home,  eveii 

our  heavenly  I 


A  SKETCH. 


Thf  little  brown  cottage  by  the  road  side, —  how  well 
do  1  remember  the  moss-grown  roof  and  dark  decaying 
sides,  which  marked  it  as  the  oldest  in  our  village.  It 
had  never  known  the  hypocritic  gloss  of  paint,  but  ever 
proudly  wore  its  venerable  native  hue,  as  a  memento  of 
the  many  years  and  storms  which  had  gathered  above 
it,  and  passed  away,  leaving  it  bright  and  cheerful  in  its 
advanced  age ;  and  as  if  the  very  sunbeams  delighted 
to  honor  and  irradiate  this  humble  relic  of  the  past,  it 
was  the  lirst  object  upon  which  they  rested,  after  gliding 
over  the  wooded  liill-top  that  close  sheltered  it  on  the 
east.  Then  there  was  the  warm  greensward  sloping 
down  before  the  door, —  the  ancient  oak  in  front,  spread- 
ing its  broad  deep  shade   around, —  the  old  stone  wall 


SKETCHES. 


5»1 


'yond  the  retro- 
u  f'ontcmporary. 
re  never  known 

or  purposes  of 


skirting  the  way,  and  the  large  groups  of  sweet-briar 
adorning  the  windows,  and  interlacing  their  long  fresh 
wreaths  even  to  the  roof,  as  in  friendly  cfiurt  to  conceal 
the  seams  and  scars  which  time  will  leave,  and  make 
conspicuous,  despite  such  fair  and  frail  attempts  to  hide 
them. 

All  things  without  were  old,  ain 
spect  of  the  quiet  villagers,  an  il' 
The  dumsy  dark  green  chairs, 
to  wander  from  their  stations,  s 
hospitality,  and,  their  kindly  office  tione,  to  be  directly 
remanded  to  pristine  dignity  and  silence, —  the  blackened 
mahogany  table,  with  its  round,  polished  leaves,  and 
curved,  slim  legs,  occupying  the  space  between  the  front 
windows, —  the  small  mirror  over  it,  with  its  highly  tinted 
glass  border,  and  elaborately  carved  frame, —  the  cup- 
board in  the  corner,  revealing  through  the  open  door  its 
shining  treasures  of  pewter  plates  and  "lustre  ware," 
the  antique  chest  of  drawers, — and  then  —  all  the  room 
so  still,  with  no  disturbing  sound  but  from  the  faithful 
old  clock ;  surely  never  clock  ticked  so  loud  as  that 
which  filled  a  recess  in  this  little  parlor,  and  sent  its 
sharp  vibrations  in  painful  monotony  upon  the  ear  of 
procrastination  and  idleness.  As  if  petted  for  long  fidel- 
ity, it  firmly  stood  and  told  the  truth  to  all,  and  never 
failed  strikingly  to  remind  each  visitant  that  the  mistress 
of  the  mansion,  as  well  as  itself — kept  good  hours. 

But  the  most  important  item  of  the  inventory  is  yet  to 
be  added,  the  owner  and  sole  occupier  of  all  this  mag- 
nificence —  Widow  Allen,  or  "Aunt  Maria,"  as  was  her 
more  affectionate  and  universal  appellation.  Near  the 
window,  in  a  cushioned  elbow-chair,  day  by  day,  she 
sat,  with  the  same  blackdress,  white  neck-kerchief,  and 
close  muslin  cap,  neatly  fitted  above  her  wrinkled  brow, 

24* 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

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282 


SELECT    WRITINGS. 


m 


and  bound  about  with  a  broad  black  ribbon ;  sometimes 
employed  in  knitting  for  some  of  her  favorite  little  vis- 
iters, but  often'ir  reading  from  that  Book  which  was  her 
hourly  companion,  with  a  countenance  which  seemed 
wearing  more  and  more  cf  heavenly  serenity,  as  the  day 
nearer  approached  in  which  she  should  lay  aside  the  in- 
firmities of  age,  to  be  arrayed  in  glory  and  immortal  youth. 

She  has  long  since  gone  to  her  rest;  but  I  Jove  to  con- 
template the  picture  traced  upon  my  young  memory's 
page  in  still  unfaded  colors,  to  listen  again  to  the  kind, 
affectionate  voice  which  is  now,  doubtless,  imngling  in 
the  melodies  of  the  "  new  song  "  above. 

I  recall  many  a  long,  bright,  Saturday  afternoon  passed 
in  the  old  b^-own  cottage,  and  with  it  many  a  lesson  from 
wisdom  arid  experience,  which  time  has  not  purloined. 
Often,  when  childish  disappointments  had  saddened  my 
spirits,  the  promise  of  a  visit  to  Aunt  Maria  had  power 
to  dispel  all  grief;  or  if  the  difficult  test  of  self-denial 
must  be  practised,  this  was  ever  the  summum  bonum,  in 
which  every  other  good  was  forgotten.  My  toilette  made 
in  more  than  common  care,  and  attended  with  oft 
repeated  instructions  how  to  present  my  compliments,  I 
have  set  forth  upon  the  narrow  foot-path  leading  to  Aunt 
Maria's,  sure  of  meeting  her  at  the  door  with  cordial 
smile,  and  kiss  of  hospitality.  A  low  seat  by  her  side 
was  my  birth-right  and  pride,  and  then  perhaps  she 
would  kindly  amuse  me  with  descriptions  of  by-gone 
fashions,  and  to  aid  my  fancy,  permit  my  wandering  eyes 
to  survey  the  rich  dresses  of  damask  which  adorned  her 
own  person  "  when  a  girl ;"  and  passing  from  these,  relate 
with  increasing  enthusiasm,  stories  of  the  Revolution, 
and  enkindle  my  patriotism  by  tales  of  the  invading 
"  Regulars ;"  then  finish  her  narratives  with  a  sigh  over 
these  scenes  of  a  world  v/here  she  now  stood  alone  — 


SKETCHES. 


283 


whose  changes  she  no  longer  anxiously  observed,  and 
from  which  she  was  just  departing ;  —  interest,  and  hope, 
and  joy  were  hers,  but  all  beyond  the  grave.  ^        :i«v 

Often  she  would  again  place  before  her  the  well-worn 
Bible,  and  continue  the  pious  exercise  which  ray  intrusive 
visit  had  briefly  suspended;  while  I  listened  in  silence  to 
the  birds  as  they  went  singing  past  the  window,  and 
watched  the  sunlight  as  it  glanced  in  upon  the  shutter, 
gradually  extending  across  the  old  table  and  stretching 
away  upon  the  neatly  sanded  floor.  Sometimes  closing 
its  holy  pages,  and  slowly  removing  her  spectacles,  she 
would  place  her  hand  upon  my  head  and  tell  me  of  that 
precious  faith  which  was  first  imparted  to  her  from  the 
sacred  word  —  how  it  had  gladdened  all  her  pilgrimage, 
bringing  sweet  joy  to  blend  with  every  scene  of  sorrow, 
and  gilding  her  happiest  hours  with  heavenly  purity  and 
peace ;  and  how,  while  the  eye,  and  the  ear,  and  the  taste, 
had  lost  their  quick  perception,  faith  more  clearly  dis- 
cerned the  fairer  visions  of  that  "  better  land,"  was  impa- 
tient to  join  in  swelling  the  chorus  of  its  praises,  and 
often  drank  of  the  "  river  of  the  water  of  life." 

Her  years  had  exceeded  the  threescore  and  ten  ap- 
pointed for  this  state  of  existence,  and  had  been  more 
than  ordinarily  attended  with  painful  vicissitude;  but 
firm  trust  in  God  had  been  the  prevailing  characteristic 
of  her  Christian  course  ;  no  murmuring  of  complaint  was 
ever  heard  upon  her  lips.  Once,  as  she  had  told  me  how 
short  her  life  appeared,  how  it  had  paseed  away  but  as  a 
dream,  she  alluded  with  tears  to  this  discipline  of  her 
Almighty  Father,  and  added,  in  words  which  I  have  ever 
remembered,  "  If,  through  the  merits  of  Jesus  Christ,  I 
may  be  admitted  hereafter  to  an  inheritance  with  the 
redeemed  in  light,  I  doubt  not  but  I  shall  then  look  back 
upon  the  way  through  which  I  have  been  led,  and  know 


'M 


•  ^  I 


S84 


SELECT   WRITINGS. 


that  I  could  never  have  arrived  at  that  blessedness  with 
one  trial  less,  or  different  from  what  His  wisdom  has 
allotted  me." 

Soon  after  this  a  summons  to  that  "  inheritance  "  came, 
and  she  went  up  peacefully  to  possess  it.  The  little 
cottage  was  deserted,  the  windows  and  doors  were 
closed,  the  sweet-briar  survived  awhile,  but  as  no  one 
watched  its  blossoming,  or  blessed  its  fragrance,  it  drooped 
and  died.  After  a  few  seasons  the  building  was  re- 
moved, and  all  trace  of  Aunt  Maria's  existence  was  ob- 
literated from  the  village.  True,  the  sunlight  rests  every 
morning  upon  the  spot,  and  the  beautiful  rainbow  often 
bends  over  it  as  before,  yet  these  are  heavenly  witnesses, 
and  but  testify  that  her  "  record  is  on  high." 

No  headstone  marks  the  spot  of  her  repose.  A  new 
burial  ground  at  some  distance  now  receives  the  unre- 
tuming  traveller  to  its  bourne,  so  that  the  old  place  of 
sepulchre  is  undisturbed  even  by  the  mournful  prepara- 
tions for  accessions  to  their  silent  multitude.  But 
although  forgetfulness  surrounds  the  grave,  on  what  the 
heart  has  treasured  no  change  can  be  traced;  over 
Christian  influence  death  and  decay  have  no  power; 
nay,  even  by  these  is  it  sancti'^  and  still  increasing 
unto  the  day  when  it  shall  be  u.       AiUy  revealed. 

Amid  apparently  dark  dispensations  of  providence,  I 
shall  ever  remember  the  words  of  Aunt  Maria,  "  In  joy, 
in  grief,  forget  Him  not,  forsake  Him  not,  and  His  love 
will  make  all  things  plain." 


NOTES  OF  MEMORY. 


When  from  the  busy  haunts  of  life,  we  turn  to  scenes 
close  linked  with  other  days,  how  striking  seem  to  us  the 


SKETCHES. 


285 


unaltered  features  of  the  soil;  how  readily  comes  up 
with  every  rock  and  leaf,  some  fond,  almost  faded  recol- 
lection. The  little  brook,  upon  whose  grassy  brink  we 
have  sat  through  many  long,  long  hours,  still  sends  its 
murmuring  waters  on  their  seaward  course.  The  narrow 
path  we  trod  before  our  young  feet  had  ventured  out 
upon  the  weary  walks  of  life,  whose  quiet  course  we 
knew  would  lead  us  from  the  sultry  noon  away  to  dewy 
shade,  where  the  song  of  birds  was  sweetest,  and  the 
wild  flower  gave  a  richer  fragrance,  invites  us  again  to 
tnist  its  unchanged  aspect.  The  same  hills  which  once 
smiled  upon  us,  still  look  a  benediction  upon  our  stranger 
forms ;  the  same  trees  we  once  gathered  around,  extend 
their  long  arms,  as  in  welcome ;  and  while  'mid  these 
happy  thoughts,  it  seems  as  if  scarce  a  day  had  passed 
since  last  we  gazed  upon  them,  we  turn  to  meet  the 
friends  once  so  dear  to  us ;  the  hand  we  seek  to  clasp 
grows  still  and  cold ;  the  voice  we  listen  for  is  heard 
alone  in  heaven.  A  tide  of  eventful  years  rushes  by, 
separating  us  widely  and  for  ever,  from  the  almost 
returning  visions  of  the  past 

V  "W  *^  V  V  flf 

Where  the  hill-side  slopes  towards  the  setting  sun,  shel- 
tered from  the  eastern  breeze  by  an  o'erhanging  bank,  a 
sweet  bright  spot  smiles  in  perennial  green.  A  few  lux- 
uriant maples  stand  around,  like  faithful  sentinels,  to 
guard  this  quiet  resting  place  of  spring.  When  the 
hand  of  autumn  has  touched  all  else  with  its  hectic  col- 
oring, and  summer  creations  fade  before  its  frosty  breath, 
this  little  spot  still  wears  the  seal  of  beauty,  even  upon 
the  lap  of  decay ;  and  when  the  reign  of  winter  is  passed, 
when  he  gathers  up  his  mantlte  of  snow,  and  sweeps 
away  from  the  sere  fields,  no  trace  of  his  power  is  here ; 
the  angel  of  death  passes  over  it  in  silence,  and  the  first 


■"^^^is^w'w^Rf^^iP?-''"- 


V)i.«y^'*W|^!*w- 


*>86 


SELECT  WRITINGS. 


warm  sunbeams  glance  upon  their  favorite,  rejoicing  to 
find  it  already  wakened  from  the  dreary  repose. 

When  but  a  child,  I  gazed  upon  its  mysterious  loveli- 
ness, and  wondered  much  that  no  cloud,  or  storm,  or 
frost,  had  power  to  chill  or  change  its  ever-during 
brightness.  One  long  summer  day,  with  her  who  was 
the  companion  of  my  walks,  I  sought  this  little  nook,  and 
found  the  secret  of  its  fadeless  beauty  —  a  warm,  fresh 
spring  was  oozing  up,  bedewing  all  the  grass  and  leaves 
with  its  first  sparkling  flow. 

Years  have  passed  since  then,  and  He  who  numbers 
all  our  days  with  change,  has  called  to  His  own  bosom 
her  whose  words  and  smiles  were  sweeter  far  than 
sunUght  to  my  life ;  yet,  morn  and  evening,  as  my  eyes 
linger  upon  that  emerald  bed,  there  comes  a  memory  of 
her  which  sanctifies  that  lonely  spot.  Again  I  see  her 
beckoning  with  her  hand  to  its  gushing  waters;  again 
she  bends  towards  me  in  love — 'tis  but  a  moment;  too 
pure  for  this  grosser  life,  such  angel  visits  may  not  last; 
commissioned  to  sprinkle  freshness  o'er  our  course,  to 
shed  anew  the  influence  of  their  pure  example — and 
return. 

OI  gently  o'er  the  tablet  of  the  heart  come  the  linea- 
ments of  the  loved  and  lost;  sweet,  'mid  the  ruffling  trials 
of  life,  are  the  cherished  remembrances  of  the  departed ; 
a  halo,  hke  the  almost  visible  presence  of  their  spirits, 
rests  upon  the  paths  they  trod  with  us ;  but  from  the  grave 
which  conceals  them,  around  the  silent  chambers  where 
they  repose  in  death,  there  beams  a  more  celestial  glory. 
As  we  pause  here,  where  mortality,  trembling,  hid  itself 
before  the  immortal  and  eternal,  the  clamorous  cares  of 
life  retreat  away ;  the  titiin  of  its  wild  wishes  withdraws 
from  the  bosom;  there  is  no  place  for  them  so  near  the 
bourne,  where  they  must  one  day  cease  for  ever:  but  the 


SKETCHES. 


287 


spirit  comes  alone,  to  commune  with  its  deep  aiTections, 
which  it  would  now  fain  raise  to  the  home  of  the  spirit, 
and  to  the  society  of  those  who  have  gone  up  thither. 

Merciful  indeed  is  the  providence  which  has  called 
the  beloved  from  our  side,  that  it  may  open  to  us  these 
clear  springs  of  water,  in  the  rough  and  barren  waste  of 
life ;  which  has  withdrawn  from  our  too  dazzling  merid- 
ian these  beams  of  friendship,  that  the  dawning  of  the 
infinite  light  within  us  may  brighten  into  "  perfect  day." 

Higher  and  holier  is  the  blessing  given,  than  the 
sweet  boon  it  first  recalled.  Yet  love  does  sometimes 
sadly  turn  towards  the  past;  a  tone,  a  glance,  will  thrill 
along  the  chords  of  feeling  wakening  buried  associa- 
tions, till  we  half  forget  the  power  of  death.  Joy  smiles 
within  us — our  steps  hasten  to  meet  the  absent — but 
they  come  not  forth;  then  when  the  listening  ear  is 
pained  by  the  unbroken  silence,  when  there  is  no  answer 
to  the  dear  familiar  name  which  trembles  on  our  lips; 
when  the  eyo  which  watches  for  their  smiling  counte- 
nance is  dimmed  with  tears,  O,  what  a  chilhng  shadow 
falls  upon  the  heart !  But  they  are  in  heaven — Euid  we 
shall  meet  them  there;  this  is  our  star  of  hope.  We 
trace  their  flight  to  that  unchanging  glory  in  which  they 
rest,  and  feel  ourselves  new  linked  to  heaven;  the  dark- 
ness and  tears  which  first  enshrouded  us,  become  but  as 
the  softly  gathered  shades  of  evening,  with  its  sprinkled 
dews,  to  purify  the  atmosphere,  and  prepare  us  calmly 
and  quietly  to  go  and  share  their  long  slumbers,  when 
the  night  of  death  shall  have  cast  its  deep,  dark  shadows 
upon  our  short  and  troublous  day  of  life. 


\v. 


288 


SELECT    WHITINGS. 


.'i(A 


WATCH-NIGHT. 


How  still  and  holy  is  this  hour!  it  is  the  noon  of 
night.  The  moon  and  stars  from  their  high  spheres  look 
steadily  down  upon  the  silent  city;  even  the  wintry 
night  winds,  which  have  swept  up  so  coldly  from  the 
waters,  are  in  this  sacred  moment  hushed,  as  if  the 
mysterious  influence  which  now  rests  upon  the  spirit, 
and  with  freshly  imparted  divinity  prepares  it  to  hold 
most  solemn  converse  with  its  God,  were  touching  all 
things  above  us  and  around,  until  they  feel  his  presence, 
and  a  voice  from  the  earth,  the  winds,  and  the  far  off 
stars,  proclaims  to  the  adoring  soul  —  the  Lord,  the  Lord 
is  here!  He  whose  wisdom  pervades  the  secrets  of 
creation,  and  upon  whose  word  the  pillars  of  the  world 
were  based,  has  come  down,  and  placing  His  hand  upon 
the  springs  of  time,  again  measures  out  to  man  another 
period  of  duration,  another  swiftly  revolving  circle  of 
hope  and  fear,  of  joy  and  sorrow,  of  life  and  death. 

Well  may  we  bow  and  worship  before  Him,  while  His 
infinite  mercy  offers  to  faithless  servants  so  rich  a  gift ; 
and  meet  it  is  that  we  receive  the  wondrous  boon  with 
prayer  and  watching.  By  the  year  now  gliding  from 
us,  yielding  its  latest  message  ere  it  closes  its  record  in 
eternity,  and  by  the  dread  responsibihties  with  which 
the  coming  new  one  shall  invest  us,  we  are  called  alike 
to  peni'.ence,  to  prayer  —  and,  therefore,  "  watch." 

In  guilty  alienation  from  the  promised  rest  of  "  perfect 
love  "  and  faith,  our  free  inheritance,  we  watch  as  those 
who,  in  a  gloomy  night,  when  death  and  danger  were 
abroad,  watched,  and  trusted  that  the  sprinkled  blood 
upon  their  humble  dwellings  should  meet  the  eye  and 


SKETCHES. 


289 


stay  the  arm  of  Him  who,  with  the  sword  of  justice 
bared,  was  passing  over  the  land.  But  a  hope  which 
speaketh  better  things  is  ours.  Though  the  polhited 
record  which  the  closing  year  now  bears  to  Heaven  is 
open  to  the  gaze  of  uncreated  purity,  with  penitential 
tears,  yet  humble  faith,  we  glance  beyond  this  searching 
sight,  to  where  a  milder  glory  beams  for  man  to  look 
upon  —  to  the  changeless  throne  of  mercy ;  and  there 
already  has  the  blood  as  of  a  lamb  newly  slain  washed 
all  that  guilt  away  —  because  our  Eedeemer  lives,  we 
live  also. 

We  live  awhile  on  earth,  and  therefore  watch ;  for  in 
every  hour  of  this  varying  scene  we  are  sowing  the 
seed  of  which  we  are  to  reap  in  that  unending  state 
to  which  we  hasten ;  of  daily  joys  and  daily  trials,  that 
fearful  harvest  is  preparing ;  from  God  alone  must  come 
the  constant  aid  to  sow  the  seed  aright,  by  whose  grace 
and  smile  it  shall  ripen  and  increase,  and  yield  to  us  the 
fruit  of  endless  life. 

Grief,  too,  has  been  mingled  with  the  past,  and  from 
the  hand  of  change  and  death  we  gathered  oft  a  bitter 
portion,  and  therefore  watch,  ere  we  advance,  lest  those 
tokens  of  His  presenctr  be  withdrawn,  so  long  our  guide, 
our  glory  and  defence ;  for  in  the  way  whnh  we  must 
tread  are  many  dangers,  and  sorrows  sti.  vill  grow 
together  with'our  joys  until  the  end  shall  como.  But  an 
end  shall  come  —  a  full  and  glorious  end  to  anxious  care, 
and  grief,  and  every  fear ;  for  He  has  numbered  them. 
When  the  heart,  thoroughly  purified,  shall  no  more  need 
refining  grief;  and  wayward  faith,  taught  by  afflicting 
mercy,  shall  fasten  steadily  upon  the  rock  Christ  Jesus ; 
and  hope,  cleansed  from  all  the  earthly  aspirations  which 
now  dim  its  lustre,  shall  brighten  in  the  light  of  "  perfect 
day  " —  then  to  the  society  of  those  dear  ones  who  have 

25 


290 


SELECT     WRITINGS. 


joined  the  sainted  band  above,  to  all  the  spirits  of  the 
just,  and  to  Himself,  in  His  own  glorious  abode,  will  He 
welcome  us ;  therefore,  now  we  pray,  that  when  the  end 
shall  be,  and  He  shall  come  to  summon  us  before  Hiui, 
whether  it  be  at  the  eve  of  this  new  year,  or  in  the 
middle  of  its  course,  or  when  the  morning  of  another 
dawns,  He  may  find  us  "  watching," 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  THE  PROMISES. 


"  Fading,  still  fading,  the  last  beam  is  shining,"  and 
evening  with  pale  reflected  light,  and  deep  silent  shadows 
comes  to  shut  the  closing  day,  and  fix  its  seal  for  ever 
upon  the  unreturning  hours.  We  mourn  not  at  its  soft 
decline,  for  we  know  that  beyond  our  darkened  horizon 
another  sky  is  gilded  with  glowing  light,  and  that  when 
night  shall  have  silenced  the  hum  of  business,  and  have 
given  to  careful,  wearied  man,  repose  and  joy,  day  shall 
iigain  dawn  upon  retiring  night,  and  paternal  love  call  us 
from  its  grave-like  slumbers  forth  to  hope  and  duty ;  for 
(5od  has  promised  this;  and  so  long  as  "day  and  night" 
witness  the  faithfulness  of  His  ancient  covenant,  even 
without  the  humble  breath  of  prayer,  or  song  of  praise, 
so  grateful  to  His  ear,  those  who  never  think  upon,  the 
grace  which  gives,  lie  down  secure  upon  His  promise. 

But  they  whose  hearts  are  hallowed  by  His  sacred 
name,  may  gaze  upon  a  scene  like  this,  and  feel  the  holy 
influence  of  that  more  glorious  covenant  blending  with 
the  hour.  Tlere  was  a  time  when  sin  impelled  the  first 
guilty  heart  to  seek  to  hide  itself  from  God,  and  o'er  the 
offender's  gloomy  pathway  drew  a  cloud  of  unmingled 
fear  and  wretchedne.ss,  when  one  by  one  he  sought  the 
gifts  of  former  peace,  and  joy,  and  found  that  all  were 


SKETCHES. 


291 


lost !  there  was  no  life  nor  hope.  But  then,  O  then, 
one  light  arose ;  steady  and  bright  it  gleamed  along  his 
way,  and  through  the  dark  valley  and  shadow  of  death, 
revealed  a  calm  and  glorious  passage  ;  it  was  the  word 
of  God,  it  was  the  light  of  promise.  Fallen  man  heard 
the  voice  of  mercy,  and  looked  upward ;  amid  the  ruins 
of  his  nature,  faith  was  born  ;  then  hope  rekindled,  and 
peace  and  joy  restored  their  gifts,  because  the  offered 
sacrifice  could  purchase  all  again.  That  promise  has 
not  failed,  the  world  has  seen  Emmanuel;  and  His  ap- 
j)ointed  errand  wrought,  those  who  once  by  faith  beheld 
His  glory  afar  off,  have,  with  attending  angels,  welcomed 
Him  back  to  Heaven.  And  His  promise  still  is  sure  to 
those  who  lean  alone  upon  its  strength !  How  shall  this 
be  measured,  how  compared?  By  the  temptations  of 
earth?  The  path  of  our  pilgrimage  may  be  spread  with 
dazzling,  illusive  light,  with  dearest,  sweetest,  yet  most 
fatal  seeming  good,  but  guarding  us,  there  is  an  eye  which 
never  slumbers,  an  arm  never  weary  in  our  defence,  and 
love  more  tender  and  watchful  than  is  a  mother's  for  the 
babe  she  bore ;  they  are  His  who  spoke  the  promises  in 
which  wc  trust, therefore  will  not  we  fear;  though  many 
mighty  have  been  slain  when  He  was  forgotten,  yet  in 
Him  is  the  strength  of  the  weakest  perfected.  Shall 
we  measure  it  by  the  trials  of  life?  These  may  feather 
blackness  around  us,  and  like  an  unrelenting  storm  leave 
but  a  wreck  bolujid  of  all  the  heart  had  prized  so  much ; 
yet  upon  a  scene  like  this,  has  faith  in  the  word  of  God 
arisen,  and  declared  that  the  sufferings  of  this  present 
life  are  not  worthy  to  be  compared  with  the  glory  which 
is  to  be  revealed  after  death  —  and  death  itself  shall 
fail  —  is  changed  before  a  stronger  than  he.  Death, 
then,  we  hail  thee  as  a  friend,  though  thy  hand  be  cold 
in  greeting,  and  the  shadow  of  thy  wing  be  damp  and 


292 


SELECT     WRITINGS. 


dark  upon  us,  and  dust  the  pillow  to  which  thou  dost  in- 
vite the  weary  head —  for  with  thee  comes  the  promise  ; 
and  when  thy  seal  shall  be  upon  the  mortal  placed, 
then  shall  the  immortal  soar  blissfully  upward  to  the 
new  possession  of  its  purchased  inheritance. 

Sweet,  O  sweet,  with  the  parting  breath,  comes  the 
release  fVom  temptation  and  trial,  from  pain,  and  pov- 
erty, and  sin  ;  and  welcome,  triumphantly  welcome,  the 
messenger  who  looses  the  silver  cord  which  detained  the 
spirit  here,  and  in  one  rapturous  moment  presents  it  for 
ever  calm  and  glorified  before  <he  throne. 

I  knew  of  one,  an  aged  man,  unknown  to  friendship, 
a  son  of  poverty  yet  an  heir  of  God,  a  friend  of  Jesus 
Christ's,  who  daily  shared  His  blessing,  and  ever  to  His 
Spirit  gained  a  stronger  likeness.  Years  had  gone  by, 
and  while  tears  and  trials  sadly  numbered  them,  his  up- 
right soul  was  peaceful  still,  and  hourly  held  so  inti- 
mate communion  with  his  God,  that  faith  was  ahaust 
lost  in  sight,  and  the  rich  promises  of  the  holy  word 
were  to  him  as  present  realties.  The  hour  of  his  trans- 
lation drew  nigh.  It  was  a  bright  Sabbath  noon,  and 
the  many  bells  of  the  full  city  were  summoning  the  peo- 
ple each  to  their  house  of  prayer.  The  streets  were 
crowded  with  the  active  human  tide  which  passed  along. 
But  he  was  in  an  upper  room  alone  with  God.  No  pil- 
low sustained  his  venerable  head,  and  no  voice  of  pity 
or  affection  had  sounded  in  his  ear  for  many  days ;  yet 
without  a  friend  on  earth,  lying  upon  his  straw  pallet, 
while  the  cold  wintry  winds  whistled  through  the  crev- 
ices of  the  apartment,  and  the  snows  of  heaven  wreathed 
the  rafters  above  his  head,  the  strength  of  the  promises 
was  his ;  and  the  companionship  of  angels,  and  the  con- 
scious presence  and  the  love  of  God  supplied  every 
want. 


SKETCHES. 


293 


A  kind  stmnj^er,  informed  of  his  penury,  came  to  re- 
move him  to  a  more  comfortable  abode.  He  approached 
the  old  man,  whose  eyes  were  closed  and  his  lips  moving 
as  in  silent  prayer.  Bending  o'er  him,  he  tenderly  ex- 
plained the  object  of  his  coming.  Slowly  the  poor  man 
opened  his  eyes,  as  the  strange  human  tones  recalled  his 
thoughts  to  earth  again,  and  seemed  not  to  comprehend 
what  had  been  spoken.  "  I  have  come,  sir,  to  remove 
you  to  a  place  where  you  can  be  more  comfortable," 
repeated  the  visitant.  Fixing  his  wandering  glance  upon 
the  stranger,  his  eye  grew  steadily  bright,  as  the  film  of 
death  was  for  a  moment  withdrawn  from  it,  a  radiant 
smile  kindled  upon  liis  features,  then  raising  himself 
upon  his  bed  of  straw,  he  looked  upward,  and  in  a  firm 
voice  exclaimed,  "My  dear  sir,  you  are  too  late — you 
are  too  late.  The  chariot,  of  Israel,  and  the  horsemen 
thereof,  have  been  waiting  for  me  all  the  morning." 
And  he  clasped  his  pale  hands  and  shouted  the  blessed 
name  of  Him  in  whom  he  triumphed,  but  almost  ere  the 
echo  of  his  song  had  ceased,  the  mantle  which  he  had 
worn  on  earth  fell  aside,  and  he  was  not,  for  God  took 
him. 

«« LOOKING   UNTO    JESUS." 


Turn,  weary  spirit, "  restless  wanderer  after  rest ;"  forget 
awhile  the  mingling  din  of  life,  and  bid  the  busy  wheels 
of  earthly  thought  stand  still.  The  hour  of  evening  sac- 
rifice is  here,  and  One  awaits  thine  offering.  Constant 
as  the  flight  of  time,  and  rich  beyond  all  price  has  been 
His  mercy's  daily  store  to  thee.  Then  let  thy  song  arise, 
and  let  the  noble  gift  thou  wilt  now  return  to  Him,  awake 
in  praise  some  guardian  angel's  harp ;  this,  this  we  know 
is  ready,  but  where  is  thy  lamb,  reluctant  spirit  ? 

25* 


■  •'■'':i'r'^.^'^\T^'KT-y'^^^f^.' 


394 


SELECT     WRITINGS. 


A  heart  torn  and  diseased,  and  marred  in  every  way  by 
sin,  O  thou  Holy  One,  is  now  upon  thy  sacred  altar  laid. 
Of  all  which  thou  hast  given,  this,  only  this,  have  I  to 
bring !  But  ah !  can  grateful  incense  rise  to  thee  from 
such  polluted  source  ?  Can  the  eye  of  Infinite  purity 
beam  forth  one  ray  or  favor  upon  the  sinner  and  the 
sinner's  gift  ?  Author  of  all  being  and  all  peace,  foun- 
tain of  hght  and  blessedness,  throned  amid  dazzhng, 
changeless,  limitless  expanse,  eternity  thine  empire,  ho- 
liness thy  nature,  my  feeble,  fearful  spirit  shrinks  before 
thee,  and  would  fain  hide  in  the  dust  from  thy  presence  ; 
hab*fin.ing  from  the  threshold  of  thy  glorious  courts,  I 
leave  my  gift  upon  the  altar,  and  should  relentless  wrath 
consume  it  there,  thou  art  righteous  still. 

But  a  gracious  voice  reaches  my  ear.  I  turn  again, 
and  lo !  the  wing  of  mercy  stoops  to  take  the  worthless 
offering  up;  its  pollution  is  wasl  ed  away;  light  from 
thy  throne  arrays  it,  and  reveals  a  new  and  fair  inscrip- 
tion there  which  marks  it  as  thine  own,  for  O,  before 
thine  awful  majesty,  there  stands  a  sacrifice  of  noblest 
name ;  the  title  which  his  death  secured  I  take,  and  dare 
to  wait  and  gaze  upon  the  glorious  victim  there,  and 
while,  as  newly  slain,  his  blood  cleanses  to  the  removing 
of  all  iniquity,  the  ever-blessed  spirit  breathes  of  peace  ; 

"  For  ever  here  my  rest  shall  be, 
Close  to  thy  bleeding  side." 

And  when  "  sorrow  weighs  my  spirit  down,"  or  anxious 
care  shall  cast  its  fettering  toils  upon  my  way,  or  fears 
ensnare,  or  sin  —  the  deadliest  and  the  worst  of  ills  — 
shall  make  me  tend  towards  earth  again,  then  shall  the 
eye  of  faith  be  turned,  "  looking  unto  Jesus."  His  hand 
once  blessed  the  cup  of  sorrow,  and  if  the  tearful  eye 
be  raised  to  Him,  the  draught  is  fraught  with  joy  — 


r^ii'l^ifi'f -'..''.■• 


SKETCHES. 


295 


tumultuous  cares  and  fears  obey  him  still,  and  at  his 
feet  shall  all  subside,  and  sin,  forgiven  sin,  shall  bind  me 
there  in  ceaseless  gratitude,  "  looking  unto  Jesus,"  until 
changed  into  the  same  image,  from  glory  to  glory ;  thus 
when  He  shall  appear,  I  shall  be  like  him,  and  ever  see 
him  as  he  is." 


"TO-DAY  IF  YE  WILL  HEAR  HIS  VOICE,  HARDEN 
NOT  YOUR  HEARTS." 

The  traveller  who  presses  eagerly  forward  upon  his 
devious  path,  and  sighs  to  reach  his  journey's  end,  may 
forget  awhile  his  b.^tate  and  weariness,  and  pause  to  enjoy 
the  lovely  scenes  around  him.  He  may  seek  a  tempo- 
rary shelter  by  the  way,  and  tarry  for  a  time,  even  though 
the  sun  is  declining  to  the  horizon,  or  storms  are  gather- 
ing and  threatening  above  him,  for  another  dawn  awaits 
him,  and  when  the  storm  is  past,  another  day  cheered  by 
the  glorious  sunlight  will  again  invite  him  onward.  But 
he  "''ho  travels  to  the  eternal  world  is  bound  upon  a 
course  which  admits  of  no  delay.  From  earliest  morn- 
ing light,  while  the  dew  of  youth  is  upon  him,  must  he 
steadily  advance ;  for  that  morning  in  its  freshness  is 
fleeting,  and  returns  not  again  —  the  evening  of  death 
comes  quickly,  and  no  morrow  dawns  upon  it.  There 
is  no  friendly  shelter  into  which  he  may  safely  enter 
and  forget  among  the  wayside  pleasures  that  his  mis- 
sion is  not  there.  But  looking  for  and  hasting  unto 
the  celestial  and  eternal  scenes  which  await  him  at  that 
journey's  end,  must  he  watchfully  advance  to  secure  an 
inheritance  in  the  mansions  of  everlasting  rest,  for  en- 
compassed with  difficulties,  and  girded  with  weakness 
as  with  a  garment,  in  an  unexpected  moment  he  may  fall, 
and  sink  to  rise  no  more. 


296 


SELEfct   Writings. 


Anne  and  Eliza  were  sisters,  and  their  hearts  blended 
together  in  all  the  sacred  and  tender  sympathies  with 
which  sisterly  affection  is  blessed.  They  had  passed 
from  childhood  to  the  bloom  and  pride  of  youth,  sharing 
the  same  scenes  and  led  by  the  same  counsels ;  yet,  as 
their  characters  matured,  there  was  gradually  developed 
a  difference  in  mental  attributes,  which  might  have  been 
occasioned  by  the  operation  of  early  incidents,  or  might 
be  more  directly  referable  to  dissimilar  elementary  con- 
stitution. 

Anne,  the  eldest,  possessed  a  mind  strongly  marked 
by  decision  and  firmn'^ss.  Ardent  in  her  attachments, 
but  deep  in  her  prejudices,  deliberate  in  her  judgment, 
steady  and  aspiring  in  purpose,  she  was,  but  for  one 
important  defection,  well  qualified  to  assume  the  influ- 
ence she  had  early  acquired  over  her  younger  sister. 
Eliza  was  gentle  and  affectionate ;  the  impulses  of  her 
warm  heari  frequently  swept  away  her  prejudices  and 
purposes — even  her  judgment  sometimes  lost  its  power  to 
weigh  and  regulate,  while  kindly  feelings  were  pleading 
in  her  breast.  If  she  at  any  time  mistook  error  for  truth, 
cheerfully  and  eagerly  she  returned  to  correct  tue  devia- 
tion ;  so  much  did  her  faults  lean  to  virtue's  side,  that 
they  seldom  gave  offence  to  any  —  "  none  knew  her  but 
to  love,  none  named  her  but  to  praise." 

But  one  vast,  dark  error  had  enthralled  them  in  its 
gloom  —  they  were  born  under  its  influence,  and  nurtured 
under  its  shadow.  Parental  instmction,  only  in  this  un- 
kind, had  pointed  their  early  hopes  and  inquiries  to 
heaven  as  the  final  home  of  all  mankind ;  where,  passing 
from  the  restless  and  sinful  engagements  of  lifcj  all 
nvight  at  once  enter,  nor  pause  first  to  cleanse  their 
robes,  and  make  thera  white  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb. 


■■■K^':^-^r".-4>'/;-_':;.7;;,.'^i_'-if;:yi'-;:-'j;.:' 


SKETCHES. 


297 


Eliza's  mind  was  charmed  with  false  notious  of  such 
a  manifestation  of  the  universal  love,  and  she  questioned 
not  concerning  the  justice  which  opposes  it,  by  reward- 
ing every  man  according  to  his  work;  nor  the  purity 
which  forbids  it,  by  excluding  from  His  presence  what- 
soever is  unholy  or  unclean.  Instead  of  grasping  the 
cross,  as  the  true  and  affecting  manifestation  of  this 
love,  or  presenting  the  humble  prayer  of  faith  by  it,  as 
the  only  condition  of  entrance  within  the  pearly  gates, 
she  trusted  in  the  abounding  mercy  of  God,  nor  saw  that 
fearful  justice  is  the  first  and  brightest  evidence  of  that 
adorable  mercy. 

Aime  adopted  the  early  instruction,  and  it  grew  with 
her  strong  mind,  and  struck  deeply  among  her  preju- 
dices, and  wove  itself  balefully  in  all  her  opinions  and 
purposes,  until  she  became  to  those  around  her  a  bhnd 
leader  of  the  blind ;  and  she  who  would  have  shone  as 
a  star  in  the  Christian  life,  proudly  closed  her  heart 
against  the  very  source  from  which  all  the  excellencies 
of  her  character  were  unknowingly  borrowed. 

I  knew  them  when,  for  a  time  removed  to  a  distance 
from  their  home,  they  were  associated  with  an  interest- 
ing company  of  youth,  who  were  gathered  together  from 
day  to  day  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge.  And  that  school 
was  a  sanctified  fountain ;  there  was  not  an  apartment 
under  its  roof  which  had  not  been  often  visited  by  the 
Holy  Spirit  —  nor  a  resident  there  who  had  not  witnessed 
its  effects  —  nor  a  place  of  gathering  to  them  which  had 
not  been  hallowed  by  humble  prayer  and  faithful  moni- 
tion ;  it  was  of  God  a  chosen  place  —  a  sanctuary  near 
to  heaven. 

Scarcely  had  the  interesting  duties  of  teacher  and 
pupil  commenced  anew,  when  the  Spirit  of  God  was 


"  f:fc^.''f^s^  ./;~^§pf^?;j5y^  vrr^  5 


208 


SELECT     WRITINGS. 


again,  revealed,  and  the  young  circle  bowed  before  Him 
as  the  tender  grass  bows  before  the  wind,  and  earthly 
sins,  and  earthly  desires,  and  ambitious  motives  were 
laid  low  in  the  dust ;  hearts  which  had  been  given  to 
the  world  alone,  were  taken  back  and  laid  upon  the  altar 
of  God,  and  the  new  hopes,  the  rich  prospects,  the  joy 
unspeakable,  all  the  Christian's  wealth  of  blessedness, 
were  at  once  opened  around  them,  and  almost  clad  them, 
in  the  brightness  of  a  celestial  vision.  Those  days  are 
upon  record  in  that  school  as  fairest  among  the  fair  — 
and  upon  record,  doubtless,  before  the  throne  above. 
O !  who  shall  tell  of  them  here,  and  show  how  such  reg- 
istry of  grace  imparted  shall  be  met  at  that  day  which 
shall  declare  them. 

Anne  and  Eliza,  hitherto  gay  and  careless,  watched 
with  amazement  this  mysterious  change  —  the  evident 
appearing  of  the  Spirit ;  and  while  it  shook  their  falla- 
cious creed  to  the  base,  together  they  stood  by  the 
broken  shackles,  retaining  silent  hold.  Eliza's  heart 
could  not  remain  callous  to  the  truth;  she  could  not 
banish  from  her  mind  the  emotions  which  were  strug- 
gling there;  as  she  listened  to  the  stirring  appeals 
addressed  to  them,  tears  would  swell  in  her  eyes,  and 
the  flush  of  feeling  went  and  came  upon  her  cheeks. 
Stung  by  the  fear  of  endless  death  —  won  by  the  ex- 
ceeding love  of  Christ  —  her  heart  relented,  and  resolved 
to  offer  all  to  Him ;  she  went  and  knelt  among  the  peni- 
tents at  the  altar  for  prayer.  Higher  pride  now  kindled 
in  the  bosom  of  Anne.  Her  countenance  assumed  a 
strange  expression  of  opposition,  and  wrapping  herself 
in  hardness  and  prejudice,  she  remained  an  inexorable 
spectator  of  the  weeping  company. 

The  cold  reserve  with  which  she  next  met  her  con- 
victed sister,  and  the  haughty  scorn  with  which  she 


SKETCHES. 


299 


treated  all  solicitations  to  seek  the  forgiveness  of  sin, 
first  grieved  Eliza  —  then  bewildered  her;  and,  yielding 
to  temptation,  she  began  to  question  the  necessity  for 
herself  of  so  mwc/i  sorrow  for  sin,  and  the  temptation 
gained  strength ;  possibly  her  sins  were  trifling,  and  — 
God  was  merciful  —  and  she  need  not  deny  herself  the 
innocent  pleasures  of  life  to  please  Him  —  and  if  there 
were  a  place  of  everlasting  punishment,  surely  she 
should  not  be  lost  at  last,  for  Christ  had  died  for  her. 
And  here,  although  with  every  moment  as  she  had 
receded  from  God,  the  blessed  Spirit  had  been  with- 
drawing farther  and  farther  from  her,  yet,  inwardly 
pronouncing  these  precious  words,  "  Christ  has  died  for 
me,"  there  came  another  and  another  ray  of  hght  from 
the  love  unwilling  to  yield  her  soul  to  death ;  again  she 
saw  her  danger  and  her  only  remedy,  and  weighed  the 
present  sacrifice  against  the  weight  of  heavenly  glory  — 
wept  awhile,  in  unutterable  bitterness  of  soul ;  then 
chose  to  leave  the  matter  there:  —  sometime  she  would 
seek  the  pardon  now  offered,  and  do  the  will  of  God ; 
yes,  she  loould;  not  many  years  should  pass  without 
beholding  her  a  faithful  follower  of  Jesus  —  hut  not  now. 
When  they  were  next  assembled  in  the  place  of 
prayer,  while  surrounded  by  those  who  were  anxiously 
mourning  over  sin,  or  rejoicing  in  its  forgiveness,  she 
remained  unaflfected,  calmly  satisfied  in  her  promises  to 
the  future,  nor  felt  that  that  calm  was  but  the  deadly 
slumber  that  steals  upon  the  soul  after  resisting  and 
deferring  the  claims  of  God,  No  message  of  redeeming 
love  cbuld  woo  from  her  a  tear ;  no  word  of  solicitous 
caution  could  startle  a  fear  in  her  deluded  bosom ;  that 
visit  of  mercy  had  passed  away,  and  her  sorrow  and  her 
promises  were  forgotten,  amid  the  friends  and  gayeties 
which  had  been  awaiting  her  at  home.     A  few  brief 


300 


SELECT    WRITINGS. 


i  I 


weeks  she  enjoyed  them;  then  came  a  change  —  a 
rearful  change  —  this  was  not  her  hoine.  Disease  came 
suddenly,  and  those  pleasures  lost  their  power  to  please 
or  save.  But  even  here  was  no  place  of  repentance. 
Not  overwhelmed  with  dismay,  not  distracted  with  the 
dissolving  agony  pf  life,  not  beguiled  by  the  reverses  of 
a  disordered  brain,  nor  obscured  in  lethargic  stupor,  did 
she  number  the  last  hours  of  earthly  existence;  no! 
but  calmly  and  gradually  she  went  down  to  death,  alone 
—  awfully  alone,  without  one  whisper  of  the  Spirit,  or 
one  uttered  wish  to  enter  heaven.  God,  and  the  Savior, 
and  the  Holy  Ghost,  she  had  forsaken  in  life,  and  in 
death  they  were  not  near  to  aid,  and  cheer,  and  to 
release. 

O  ye,  in  whose  hearts  the  heavenly  messenger  of  grace 
is  visiting,  check  not  the  kind  voice  of  entreaty,  but  Hsten 
until  He  shall  absorb  every  other  consideration ;  and,  by 
all  the  solemn  words  which  God  hath  spoken,  by  all  the 
warnings  which  His  providence  has  marked,  delay  not 
to  make  thy  peace  with  Him.  Remember  that  to  delay 
is  to  neglect,  "  and  how  shall  we  escape  if  we  neglect  so 
great  salvation  ?" 


»■  •,«' '    ■       ■■>■ 


io#- 


*K    • ' 


FRAGMENTS. 


EVENING. 


The  day  was  fair  and  beautiful,  and,  with  a  sunset  of 
surpassing  loveUness,  withdrew  its  latest,  hngering  beams 
of  light,  and  left  us  with  the  silent,  dewy  eve.  How  full 
of  God  are  the  quiet  hours  of  evening  —  O  how  full ! 
When  cares  and  the  wild  anxieties  of  life  are  gone  with 
man  to  his  retirement,  does  not  the  Spirit  .of  God  again 
walk  forth  in  "  the  cool  of  the  day,"  as  if  to  chase  from 
this  favorite  planet  of  his  care  all  impress  of  the  busy 
hour's  pollution,  to  hush  its  troubled  elements  that  another 
morning  may  dawn  upon  us,  as  shone  the  first  dayspring 
upon  Eden? 

Around  the  eastern  horizon  awhile  a  rainbow  line  of 
light  was  softly  resting ;  here  and  there  from  ita  broad 
belt  some  sudden  ray  shot  upward  to  the  sky ;  then  more 
and  more  went  swiftly  up,  until  a  little  from  the  zenith, 
they  gathered  to  a  point  which  seemed  "  quite  in  the 
verge  of  heaven."  No  thought  was  in  my  heart,  but  im- 
pressions vast,  o'erwhelming.  I  thought  not,  /  lived  not. 
Clasping  my  hands,  the  name  by  which  we  speak  of  the 
"  Eternal  power,"  in  silence  dwelt  upon  my  tongue  —  and 
yet  there  was  a  thought  of  the  moment  when  the  trem- 
bling new-made  beams  of  light  at  His  command  hastened 
26 


302 


SELECT    WRITINGS. 


to  their  appointed  centre ;  then  of  that  moment  when  all 
the  labors  under  the  sun  shall  be  completed,  and  those 
scattering  beams  shall  hide  themselves  before  "  the 
brightness  of  His  coming." 

It  was  an  awful  thought.  I  gazed  upon  them  as  they 
seemed  hasting  onward  to  the  "  pearly  gates,"  and  longed 
to  write  upon  such  swift  winged  messengers  one  fervent 
prayer.  But  then  a  word  came  to  my  soul  so  pure  and 
blissful  that  it  wakes  the  first  and  highest  note  of  joy  in 
Heaven  —  ay.  Heaven  were  dark  and  poor  without  it  — 
think  not  to  breathe  a  prayer  to  pass  beyond  those  dis- 
tant stars,  think  not  to  grave  it  on  a  beam  of  light  that  it 
may  pass  more  swiftly  to  His  coiuts  —  but  turn  within, 
the  Throne  of  God  is  there  ! 


"  THINGS  SEEN  ARE  TEMPORAL." 


O  fleeting,  shadowy  existence  !  a  moment's  bteath  in- 
spired with  pain,  exhaled  with  a  sigh  —  is  this  all  that 
thou  canst  bestow  ?  A  reed  inly  decayed,  already  bend- 
ing to  the  blast —  and  this  is  all  that  we  call  life!  Upon 
this  fleeting  moment  do  we  dare  presume  to  freight  im- 
mortal things,  and  look  and  smile ;  around  so  frail  a  prop 
we  wait  to  gather  all  our  hopes  and  feel  secure,  and 
never  think  how  deep  within  the  worm  lies  hidden; 
but  while  we  forget  how  silently,  ceaselessly  he  destroys 
we  take  the  hand  of  friends,  are  glad  with  joy,  and  join 
the  merry  ranks  with  them  ;  anticipation  gilds  the  scene, 
hope  lights  the  eye,  and  warms  the  heart,  and  as  it  bums 
the  brightest,  our  lips  are  full  of  gratulations,  when  lo  T — 
the  hand  we  grasp  is  cold,  the  joyous  eye  is  closed,  the 
flashing  tide  of  Ufe  is  stilled  for  ever! 

"  Thou  changest  his  countenance,  and  sendest  him 


FRAGMENTS. 


803 


away."  Life,  death,  eternity  I  —  and  is  there  then  no 
hope  ?  Ye  gorgeous  clouds,  I  see  ye  as  ye  float  so  far 
above  our  walks  of  earth ;  upon  your  brightly  tinted 
wings  have  ye  no  promise  of  a  deathless  home  ?  Ye 
change  I  ye  fade !  then  ye  were  bom  of  earth  —  upon 
your  varying  robe  I  look,  and  read  my  own  mortality. 

Immense  and  shadowless  ocean,  with  what  words 
shall  I  address  thee  ?  Surely  uncontrolled,  eternal  thou 
must  be,  in  thy  deep,  dark  solitude ;  none  may  lay  de- 
stroying hand  upon  thy  stormy  spirit,  or  chill  the  vitals  of 
thy  ever-heaving  breast ;  and  thou  shalt  live  for  ever. 
Ah  no !  In  vain  thou  raisest  a  breaking  billow  upon  the 
rock  on  which  I  stand,  and  strugglest  to  be  free ;  the 
hand  which  gave  such  majesty,  hap  thus  defined  thy 
realm.  He  gave  thee  in  thy  might  to  be,  of  all  His 
works,  most  hke  Himself,  emblem  of  eternity.  Change 
!» iul  time  leave  not  a  trace  upon  thee.  Ages  have  passed 
over,  and  left  thee  fresh  as  when  the  new-born  stars 
were  mirrored  in  thy  depths.  Yet  thou  shalt  cease  to 
be.  His  wojd  who  from  out  of  chaos  called  thee  forth, 
shall  wipe  thy  floods  away  even  as  from  the  trembhng 
leaf  the  pearly  dew-drop  is  dissolved.  Thou  shalt  not 
go  alone  ;  in  that  hour  the  rugged  rocks  which  now  en- 
chain thee,  the  star  crowned  mountains,  earth's  deep 
foundations  shall  be  removed,  and  know  no  place  I—  But 
I  who  gaze  on  thee,  and  shrink  at  thy  approaching  rage, 
daring  scarce  listen  to  thy  voice —  I  shall  live  for  ever  — 
not  supported  by  myself  or  reason's  light,  but  by  His 
breath  upheld,  be  made  to  live  for  ever,  a  speck  upon 
the  never- ebbing  ocean  of  Eternity. 


304 


SELECT    WRITINGS. 


MAN  ALONE  UNGRATEFUL. 


How  beautiful  is  every  thing  around ;  all  things  par- 
take the  glory  of  each  other  —  but  what  a  sad  reverse 
does  the  heart  present.  Not  a  leaf,  however  sere,  of 
yonder  forest,  but  bathes  its  trembling  form  in  tlie  "  all- 
encircling  light ; "  not  a  wave  or  ripple  of  that  stream 
which  bears  so  deep  a  tide  below,  but  sparkles  back  its 
gratitude  to  that  golden  sky  ;  not  a  cloud,  heavy  and  low- 
ering although  its  brow  may  be,  and  even  hiding  thunder 
in  its  breast,  but  receives,  reflects  the  glittering  light ;  — 
but  the  heart,  all  formed  to  claim  alliance  with  things  di- 
vine, and  catch  a  holy  revelation  through  nature's  hght, 
enwraps  itself  in  its  selfish,  sinful  shadow,  and  returns 
no  answer  back  of  gratitude.  Untouched  by  the  '«'  e 
which  hallows  each  created  thing,  it  turns  away,  and  in 
the  cold,  dark  caverns  of  its  wicked  self  it  asks  for  light 
—  and  thus  shall  no  light  be  given  it  while  thus  it  asks  — 
but  let  it  turn  confidingly  to  Him  who  blesseth  all,  and 
light  and  life  shall  both  be  freely  given. 

But  ingratitude,  how  like  the  never-melting  snow  on 
Atlas'  height,  it  rests  its  icy  weight  upon  the  soul  of  man, 
unmindful  of  the  sunny  favors  which  beam  around. 
Night  comes  on ;  he  rests  his  thankless  head  upon  the 
bosom  of  watchful  Providence,  and  seeks  repose,  while 
not  a  lisp  of  prayer  ascends  for  His  protection.  Morning 
dawns  all  gently  bright ;  he  rises  from  his  couch  re- 
freshed, but  no  murmur  of  gratitude  falls  from  his  lips 
to  Him  who  gave  "  His  angels  charge  concerning  hira," 
through  the  dark  valley  of  sleep,,  and  bade  the  day-star 
call  him  from  its  death-like  shadows  forth  again. 


rRAGMENTS. 


d05 


TIIE  PLEASURE-TAKER  WARNED. 


Yes,  row's  the  hofir ;  I  seem  to  watch  her  loved  face 
as  o'er  its  expressive  brow  the  glow  of  pleasure  steals — 
pleasure !  nay,  give  not  thy  heart  so  formed  for  purer 
joy  to  that  poor  counterfeit.  Yet  there  is  the  glitter  of 
brightest  vanity,  the  fascination  of  a  fairy  scene,  around 
"  thy  form,  when  from  the  uncurtained  stage  thine  eye 
rests  upon  the  brightly  tinted  trees,  and  thornless  flowers 
so  artfully  arranged  upon  the  hidden  canvass ;  and  then 
when  from  their  recesses  come  forth  the  sweet  notes  of 
sweetest  voices,  't  is,  I  own,  alluring,  and,  to  our  love  of 
all  that's  beautiful,  appeals  so  strongly  as  makes  us  quite 
forget  the  danger  hidden  there  —  ay,  the  danger. 

Closely  as  the  gorgeous  tinge  of  those  luxuriant  trees 
resembles  that  of  nature,  so  nearly  does  this  fond  illusion 
wear  the  dress  of  purer  pleasure ;  those  little  flowers, 
and  distant  brooks,  and  hanging  mists,  how  true  they 
seem  to  life,  yet  they  are  not  more  unreal  than  the  joys 
to  which  they  lend  their  aid.  Behind  their  borrowed 
smiles  are  only  the  coarsest  elements;  those  flowers 
bear  concealed  a  thorn  which,  in  thy  breast,  in  after 
(»  years,  may  rankle  deep ;  those  sparkling  waters  are  but 
,,  the  emblem  of  the  thought,  how  futile  is  the  attempt  to 
quench  thy  thirst  for  happiness  at  such  a  poisonous  fount 
as  only  mocks  thy  appetite ;  that  o'erhanging  mist  is  like 
the  artifice  which  vice  assumes  as  modesty's  own. 

O,  be  not  thus  allured ;  but  as  thou  sittest  to-night 

amid  its  wild  hallucination,  O  think  how   to  the  eye 

kindled  with  disease  would  seem  its  hollow  joy ;  think 

how-to  the  ear  which  listens  for  the  word  of  life  in  that 

26* 


306 


SELECT    WRITINGS. 


quiet,  curtained  cliirnber,  would  sound  the  music  of  that 
shattered  lyre ;  ,and  is  not  this  enough  ?  Then  think  liow 
soon  fven  to  thy  dear  person  this  bitter  cup  may  be  pre- 
sented '  —  and  then  thy  heart  will  turn  sick  within  thee 
as  the  charm  unweaves,  and  thou  wilt  have  gained  more 
from  the  short  lesson  it  unfolds,  than  in  years  thus 
yielded  to  its  falsely  flattering  shrine. 


'niE  STORM-BIRD'S  FLIGHT. 

The  glorious  sun  had  all  day  long  looked  down  iu 
majesty  upon  the  parching  earth.  No  drops  of  rain  in 
many  days  had  come  to  nurse  the  languid  flowers,  as 
bending  their  slender  heads,  they  seemed  resigning 
themselves  to  the  calid  soil ;  till  when  the  dazzling  foot- 
steps of  the  infant  dawn  had  passed  the  high  meridian, 
a  purple  light  began  to  spread  its  shade  around,  and  from 
the  western  horizon  a  cloud  was  gathering.  Fold  upon 
fold,  like  the  silv  r  plumage  of  an  angel's  wing,  it  slowly 
rose,  a  rival  to  the  sun ;  but  as  it  grew,  within  its  breast 
a  storm  was  sheltered,  till  ripening  in  its  anger,  the  sound 
of  distant  thunder  came  low  and  heavy  to  the  ear. 
Louder  and  deeper  rolled  that  awful  voice,  as  nearer 
came  its  darkening  form,  and  in  the  grave -like  silence  of 
its  pause,  the  lightning  glanced  most  fearfully. 

As  the  storm  increased,  no  bird  was  seen,  save  one 
who  lingered  from  its  leafy  shelter  far  away.  At  length 
I  saw  it  rise  until  it  seemed  witliV;  tho  mantle  of  the 
storm  ;  its  droop'  iig  wing  beat  heavily  in  if-  damp  foV^"  — 
yet  still  it  rose  with  steady  fligh  ■  s*  "i  •  last,  beyond 
the  farthest  verge  of  the  dark  mist,  it  folded  up  its  weary 
pinions ;  and  on  the  brow  of  that  high  mount,  while  sun- 
beams smiled  on  its  dripping  plumage,  it  forgot  its  dark 


TRAGMENTI. 


sm 


path  throiif^h  the  shower,  nor  fcurcd  the  thunder  rumhhng 
far  below  its  nfe  retreui  And  then  I  thought,  that  so 
tons  will  seem  the  disappointments)  and  the  trials  of  thia 
short  hfe  when  wclco.aed  to  that  "  continuing  city." 


the 


THE  BIBLE. 

As  the  dove  seeks  shelter  when  the  storm  gathers,  to 
await  the  beaming  forth  of  the  sun  again,  and  rests  with 
folded  wing  upon  the  promise  of  his  coming  when  the 
cloud  is  past,  so  to  us  is  given  this  sacred  retreat,  imob' 
tnisive  in  form,  unaided  by  ceremony,  yet  to  the  eye  of 
humble  confidence  wearing  the  manifest  smile  of  His 
mercy,  the  signet  of  glorious  divinity,  unehu  iging  where 
all  is  change,  bringing  light  when  darkncs  is  on  our 
minds,  and  alienation  in  our  hearts. 

O,  then,  let  us  forget  not  this  treasure,  but  j  business 
perplexes  or  cares  oppress,  let  the  silent  breathing  of 
its  consolations  bring  rest.  If  incertitude  and  decay, 
which  are  the  elements  of  all  we  love  on  earth,  hall  add 
thorns  to  our  pathway,  or  the  blasts  of  a  cold  woi  d  break 
harshly  about  us,  then  let  its  words  come  to  uitr  ears, 
and  it  will  say.  His  hand  who  rules  the  storm  a\  ill  sup- 
port the  frailest  barque  upon  life's  billows  cast,  and 
gently  guide  it  to  the  port  where  comes  no  night,  no 
storm,  no  sin,  no  death,  where  the  smile  of  those  dc;  arted 
shall  welcome  us,  and  the  voices  of  the  dearest  be  the 
first  to  greet  us  with  the  melodies  of  heaven. 


m 


308 


SELECT   WRITINGS. 


PRAYER. 


How  sweet  a  gift  is  prayer !  the  gate  to  praise,  the 
narrow  way  to  heaven. 

When  the  storms  of  the  day  are  hushed  away  in 
peace,  and  the  glories  of  the  setting  sun  beam  upon  na- 
ture's calmed  aspect,  the  heart  feels  its  beauty  and  owns 
its  power,  but  no  words  can  rekindle  in  description  that 
heavenly  loveliness ;  no  thought  can  fix  a  ray  of  that 
departing  glory. 

So  like  the  sunset  glory,  is  the  hour  of  prayer.  Il 
gilds  the  roughness  of  life's  rugged  course,  and  melts 
within  and  softens  upon  the  clouds  of  care,  until  they  no 
longer  betoken  a  gathering  or  returning  storm,  but  render 
the  scene  even  more  lovely  for  their  presence. 

Wouldst  thou  know  this  joy  ?  No  holy  one  from  the 
land  nearest  the  throne  can  describe  it. 

Wouldst  thou  listen  to  the  voice  which  greets  the  sin- 
ner's return  ?  The  softest  note  of  angel's  harp  to  harmony 
attuned,  can  give  no  sound  so  sweet,  so  welcome  to  the 
ear. 

Wouldst  thou  know  the  peace  whispered  to  that  wan- 
derer's bosom  ?  'Tis  like  the  rapture  and  repose  when 
ingel  songs  are  hushed  in  adoration,  and  silence  is  in 
^?^,ven.  O  these  cannot  be  told,  but  go  thou  to  His 
feet,  and  there  His  voice  shall  welcome  thee,  joy  shall 
brighten  in  thy  bosom,  peace  shall  reign  within  thy 
breast,  and  what  no  messenger  may  tell,  shall  to  thy  own 
soul  be  revealed.  , 


VRlGMENTii. 


309 


REDEEM  THE  TIME. 


Let  not  a  moment  run  to  waste,  for  within  each  is  a 
seed  of  eternity  to  grow  up  and  bear  fruit  —  shall  it  not 
be  brought  in  with  the  harvest  of  glory  ?  What  a  har- 
vest of  glory  had  now  been  reaped,  if  every  moment  of 
the  ages  past  had  added  each  its  ray  of  light.  Peace  as 
a  river,  and  righteousness  as  the  waves  of  the  sea,  would, 
centuries  ago,  have  surrounded  the  earth,  and  the  blessed 
light  of  wisdom,  which  now  shines  but  with  mingled 
splendor,  upon  scarce  a  third  of  its  dark  surface,  would 
have  been  as  the  perfect  day  gilding  all  its  waters. 
A  knowledge,  brighter  than  shone  in  the  studies  of 
Newton  or  La  Place,  would  have  penetrated  to  the 
humblest  abodes  of  poverty;  and  the  tribes  of  earth, 
lighted  by  millennial  glory,  might,  ere  this,  have  finished 
their  errand  of  probation,  and  been  now  resting  in  the 
bosom  of  God. 

A  few  months  —  then  let  U3  learn  their  importance. 
The  more  faithfully  we  improve  them,  the  more  fully 
shall  we  be  prepared  to  advance  for  ever  in  the  study  of 
the  deep  things  of  God.  Here  are  spread  before  us  the 
rudiments  of  those  lessons  which  it  will  be  our  bliss  to 
learn  above.  In  vain  should  we  strive  here  to  look 
beyond  "the  things  which  are  revealed;"  but  when  we 
have  studied  these  until  we  pant  for  more,  then  shall  we 
rise,  and  be  led  by  angels  to  the  pure  fountain  of  all 
knowledge.  With  adoration  on  our  lips,  we  shall  no 
longer  with  trembling  hand  scarce  venture  to  turn  the 
pages  of  His  wisdom,  but  encouraged  by  His  smile,  we 
may,  with  the  angels,  look  into  those  things  which  we 


310 


SELECT     WRITINGS. 


know  not  now,  but  shall  know  hereafter.  The  touch  of 
death,  separating  the  spiritual  from  the  maierial,  inter- 
rupts not  the  chain  of  thought  and  intellect,  which,  com- 
mencing in  the  earliest  dawn  of  reason,  we  may  lengthen 
on  to  bind  us  to  the  throne  of  God.  Then  let  us  haste  in 
the  path  of  knowledge.  Those  of  our  friends  who  have 
just  entered  into  rest,  are  bending  before  the  throne 
with  delight  and  admiration  at  the  rich  manifestations 
imparted  unto  them.  Shall  we  be  idle  ?  Already,  while 
it  seems  yet  morning,  the  evening  twilight  of  death  may 
be  gathering  around  us,  and  we  know  it  not.  Shall  we 
then  pause,  and  sleep  av/ay  the  time  ?  We  have  nothing 
left  but  moments  —  we  have  no  promise  of  years,  no 
assurance  of  many  coming  days.  Nothing  is  left  but  to 
fill  up  each  remaining  moment  with  faitiifulness. 


THE  FUTURE. 


The  future !  What  lies  before  us  in  that  misty  point  ? 
The  morning  light  of  youth  dawns  upon  its  shrouded  out- 
line ;  the  meridian  sun  of  riper  years  reveals  no  more 
clearly  that  still  receding  shore ;  and  the  experience  of 
old  age,  failing  to  penetrate  the  mystery,  retires  exhausted 
by  the  pursuit,  without  daring  to  touch  the  hem  of  that 
veil  which  wraps  the  vision  of  futurity.  We  come  and 
take  the  little  moments  from  that  exhaustless  store,  laden 
with  sweet  or  bitter  gifts ;  and  hoping  still  the  good,  we 
ask  for  more,  not  knowing  whether  life  or  death  may 
rest  within.  A  week,  a  day,  an  hour,  how  it  may  change 
the  web  of  circumstances,  and  with  it  all  our  hopes, 
opinions,  wishes,  fears  —  and  life  itself,  perhaps,  for  death. 


FRAOBCENTS. 


311 


OUR  REWARD. 


What  shall  be  our  reward,  therefore  ?  It  shall  be  in 
heaven  !  How  full  of  glory  is  the  thought  —  in  heaven  ? 
where  all  is  rest  and  cloudless  bliss.  O  could  we  have 
a  glimpse  of  its  unfading  beauty,  could  we,  from  the 
suburbs  of  that  continuing  city,  gaze  one  rapturous  mo- 
ment on  its  glorious  palaces  —  the  home  of  chembim, 
and  seraphim,  and  accepted  saints  —  where  Grod  reveals 
His  visible  glory ;  could  we  then  catch  upon  our  ears 
some  floating  notes  of  the  "new  song,"  how  gladly 
would  we  fill  up  the  remnant  of  our  days  in  that  service 
which  would  prepare  us  to  come,  at  last,  to  its  blest 
fruition ;  with  what  tireless  feet  should  we  hasten  to  do 
all  His  will,  that  we  might  enter,  at  last,  those  sparkling 
gates,  to  praise  Him  there  for  ever.  This  shall  be  our 
reward.  How  rich!  how  full!  when  all  that  infinity 
can  receive,  all  that  omnipotence  can  give,  is  in  the 
word,  Reward  ! 


